PLEA^   DO   NOT    REMOVE 
THSS    BOOK  CARD, 

i  ^  ' 


4ri 


S^  1    t^  ^ 


University  Research  Library 


J.    : 

t= 

r 

-.■       1 

f- 

•i" 

1:= 

zl 

--=—■; 

c 

s 

n. 

1= 

CP 

m 

3> 

>— 

cr 

1 — 

cz= 

1 — 

c= 

1 — 

cr 

1= 

S" 

1 — 

t= 

< 
0 

r- 

1 — 

»— ' 

CI= 

fZZ 

■0 

1 

1 — 

[= 

-0 

CZT 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Dec  24  '58 


URi 


""'   31971 


Form  L-9-15m-8,'26 


LESSONS    IN 

RIGHT  DOING 


VOLUME   I. 


STORrBS    AND    TALKS 


BY 


EMMA  L.   BALLOU. 


*   LEBANON,  OHIO: 

MARCH  BROTHERS, 

48  Mulberry  St.  E. 
1892. 


COPYRIGHTED 

BY  Emma  L.   Ballou. 
1890. 


V.  1 


PRKKACE. 


In  the  following  lessons  I  have  sought  to  present  the 
principles  which  underlie  all  right  actions  in  such  i^lain  and 
simple  form  as  to  be  easily  underst()cd  by  young  children. 
If,  when  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  children,  the  book  shall 
prove  of  use  in  helping  them  to  fight  the  battle  with  evil, 
which  they  must  fight  if  they  becou»e  true  men  and  women, 
I  shall  be  satisfied. 

The  lessons  will  be  much  more  valuable  to  the  children  if 
the  teacher  will  allow  them,  after  reading  each  story,  to  (;lose 
books  and  have  a  free  discussion  of  the  point  brought  out  by 
the  story  before  reading  the  discussion  given  in  the  book. 

I  have  not  undertaken  to  teach  all  that  the  children  should 
know  of  right  doing.  Much  that  they  should  be  taught,  can 
not  be  taught  in  our  public  schools,  but  must  be  left  to  the 
home  and  the  chui'ch. 


Ui 


INTRODUCTION. 


BY  N.  A.  CALKINS. 


Eight  thinking  leads  to  right  doing.  Right  doing  builds  up 
a  good  character,  the  most  valuable  of  attainments.  Good 
character  does  not  consist  in  what  one  says,  but  in  one's 
thoughts  and  doings ;  it  is  a  part  of  one's  self,  a  product  of 
active  virtues.  Children  do  not  comprehend  inactive  virtues  - 
virtue  in  the  abstract  -but  the.y  soon  lear-n  to  perceive  and 
to  understand  that  ^^hich  belongs  to  good  character  -v^hen  they 
observe  it  and  feel  it  through  acts  of  others  touard  them- 
selves, and  tonard  those  whom  they  love.  By  personal  con- 
tact with  virtues  and  with  kind  acts,  children  learn  to  know 
that  Avhich  belongs  to  right  doing.  Children  also  learn  to 
distinguish  between  good  and  bad  acts,  and  between  right 
and  \\'Tong  wa>s  of  doing  by  reading  proper  stories  about 
other  children,  and  by  thinking  and  talking  about  their  acts. 

When  stories  relate  to  common  exijeriences  of  boys  and 
girls,  and  the  incidents  told  are  life-like,  they  beconie  ex- 
cellent means  for  leading  children  to  approve  right  feelings 
and  good  deeds,  and  to  prepare  them  to  decide  in  favor  of 
like  deeds  in  their  associates;  and  finally  they  lead  the  child- 
ren to  exhibit  similar  feelings  and  to  perform  similar  deeds 
themselves.  Right  conduct  is  a  combined  result  of  right 
thinking  and  of  right  doing.  Right  doing  follows  right 
willing. 

When  the  child  has  been  led  to  do  an  act  because  the  act 
is  one  of  kindness  toward  another,  the  act  will  uplift  and 
develope  him  in  right  willing  and  in  right  doing.     When  th« 


INTRODUCTION. 

child  has  been  led  to  ask  about  an  act,  —  '  \\  as  that  ldnd?"~ 
his  moral  judgement  is  develo])ing  and  a  standard  for  right 
doing  is  forming.  Lessons  that  hel])  the  child  to  know  the 
right  and  to  will  to  do  right  acts  are  most  valuable  aids  in 
the  formation  of  good  character. 

The  author  of  this  little  volume  has  ];)repared  a  series  of 
lessons  in  harmony  with  the  foregoing  statements  and  princi- 
ples that  will  aid  children  in  distinguishing  between  right 
doing  and  wrong  doing,  and  lead  them  to  consider  thought- 
fully the  consequences  that  follow  each. 

The  subjects  of  "  Obedience  "  and  of  "  Punctuality  '"  are  pre- 
sented through  incidents  and  stories  which  relate  e.\periences 
that  are  familiar  to  boys  and  girls ;  and  the  lessons  to  be  in- 
culcated are  blended  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  the  pupils 
to  understand  the  virtues  portrayed,  and  how  to  overcome 
their  own  bad  habits. 

The  lessons  on  '  Kindness,"  '  Truthfulness,"  and  the 
"  Making  and  Keeping  of  Promises"  will  be  found  helpful  to 
parents,  as  well  as  to  teachers,  in  leading  children  to  right 
thinking  in  relation  thereto,  and  enable  them  to  understand 
the  great  importance  and  the  pleasure  of  right  doing. 

This  simple  lesson  on  "  Conscience"  will  lead  children  to  a 
better  understanding  of  that  inward  monitor  which  prompts 
them  to  do  the  right  thing,  and  warns  them  to  shun  the  wrong 
way,  and  thus  aid  in  strengthening  the  influence  of  this  guid- 
ing power. 

The  author's  own  class-room  experiences,  in  praise- 
worthy efforts  to  train  her  pupils  in  habits  of  right-thin  Icing, 
right-Avilling  and  right-doing,  has  led  to  the  preparation  of 
this  series  of  practical  lessons  that  will  prove  useful  to  those 
who  desire  to  develope  like  virtues  and  habits  in  their  pupils, 
and  thus  guide  them  in  ways  of  doing  that  will  biuld  up  good 
characters,  and  make  e^ccelleut  citizens. 


CONTEINTS. 


Chapter  I.     Obedience. 

Page 

Lesson  1.     "Whom  Children  Should  Obey 9 

Lesson  2.     Why  Children  Should  Obey 12 

Lesson  3.     How  Childreri  Should  Obey 14 

Lesson  4.     Sammie's  Disobedience  and  its  Consequences.  18 
Blackboard  Exercises 25 

Chapter  II.     Punctuality. 

Lesson  5.     Punctuality  Saves  Much  Trouble 27 

Lesson  6.     Punctuality  Saves  Time 33 

Lesson  7.     Punctuality  Helps  Other  Virtues 35 

Lesson  8.     The  An ti  Behind- Time  Society 38 

Blackboard  Exercises 49 

Chapter  IIL     Kindness. 

Lesson    9.     Kindness  to  Relatives  and  Friends 51 

Lesson  10.     Gratitude 55 

Lesson  11.     Kindness  to  the  Unfortunate,  the  Ignorant 

and  the  Wicked 57 

Lesson  12.     Forgiveness  of  Injuries 60 

Lesson  13.     Kindness  to  Animals 64 

Lesson  14.     One  Saturday 67 

Blackboard  Exercises 75 

Chapter  IV.     Truthfulness. 

Lesson  15.     Why  Children  Should  be  Truthful 77 

Lesson  16.     Evil  Results  of  Lying 80 


Lesson  17.    Sincerity. 82 

Lesson  18,     Exaggeration 86 

Lesson  19.     Prince  Frederick 88 

Blackboard    Exercises 107 

Chapter  V.     Pkojhses. 

Lesson  20.     Making  Promises 109 

Lesson  21.     Keeping  Promises 112 

Lesson  22.     Keeping  Promises  "When  Difficult 116 

Lesson  23.     The  Boy  Who  Kept  His  Promise 123 

Blackboard  Exercises 133 

Chapter  VI.     Conscience. 

Lesson  24.     What  is  Conscience  ? ....  135 

Lesson  25.     Obeying  Conscience 139 

Lesson  26.     Happiness  in  Obeying  Conscience 144 

Lesson  27.     Margaret  and  Her  Conscience 148 

Blackboard  Exercises 157 

Chapter  VII.     Duties  Toward  God. 
Lesson  28.     Love  and  Gratitude  toward  God  as  Creator 

and  Father 159 

Lesson  29.     God's  Help 164 

Lesson  30.     Showing  Love  to  God  by  Being  Good  and 

Doing  Good 167 

Blackboard  Exercises 171 


f- 


DEDICATION. 


TO  ALL  THE  LITTLE  CHILD- 
REN, RICH  AND  POOR,  BRIGHT 
AND  DULL,  GOOD  AND  BAD, 
NOW  MANY  OF  THEM  GROAVN 
TO  MANHOOD  AND  WOMAN- 
HOOD, WHOM  I  HAVE  TAUGHT 
AND  WHO  HAVE  TAUGHT  ME, 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK. 


CHAPTER  I. 


OBKDIKNCK. 

LESSON  I. 

WHOM  CHILDREN  SHOULD  OBEY. 

Teaclier. — "Good  morning,  Arcliie!"  called  Maj 
Davis,  from  lier  warm,  cozy  bed,  one  cold  winter 
morning.    "Are  yon  up  yet?" 

"No,"  aswered  Archie,  "and  I  don't  want  to  get 
up,  either.  I  am  very  comfortable  where  I  am  this 
cold  morning." 

"We  must  get  up,  though,  if  it  is  cold,  for  it  is  al- 
most time  for  breakfast,"  returned  May,  as  she 
sprang  out  of  bed. 

Very  soon,  the  two  children  were  busy  putting  on 
their  clean,  warm  clothes.  May  found  the  soiled 
ruffle,  that  she  had  left  in  her  dress  the  evening  be- 
fore, replaced  by  a  fresh,  clean  one;  and  a  rent  Id 
[Archie's  jacket  had  been  neatly  mended. 

When  the  children  were  properly  washed  and 

9 


10  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

dressed,  they  went  to  the  dining-room,  and  ate  a 
good  breakfast  that  had  been  carefully  prepared 
for  them.  After  breakfast,  each  had  some  work  to 
do,  after  which  they  looked  over  the  lessons  that 
had  been  thoroughly  studied  the  evening  before; 
then,  i)utting  on  warm  "\^Taps,  they  went  to  school. 

Who  fui'nished  these  two  children  with  their 
warm  beds,  their  comfortable  clothes  and  good 
breakfast?  Who  saw  that  they  learned  their  les- 
sons, and  went  to  school?  Did  they  do  it  for  them- 
selyes?    Fannie  may  tell. 

Fannie. — They  couldn't  do  it  for  themselves.  Their 
parents  did  it  for  them. 

Teacher.^Who  takes  care  of  you,  in  the  same 
way?  Some  one  earns  the  money  to  provide  food 
and  shelter  for  you.  Some  one  takes  care  that  you 
all  have  good  beds  to  sleep  in,  good  food  to  eat,  com- 
fortable clothes  to  wear.  Who  do  these  things  for 
you? 

Children. — Our  parents. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think,  children,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  your  parents  to  take  care  of  you?  Frank 
may  tell. 

Frank. — ^I  think  it  is,  for  we  can't  do  it  for  our- 
selves. 

Teacher. — Is  it  their  duty  to  do  anything  for  you 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOINt?.  11 

beside  taking  care  of  you  in  tlie  ways  of  whieli  I 
have  spoken? 

Carrie. — They  ouglit  to  make  us  he  good. 

Teacher. — Yes,  and  they  should  either  teach  you 
or  see  that  you  are  taught.  Now,  thinli  what  du- 
ties you  ow^e  to  your  parents? 

Harry. — We  shouUl  love  them. 

Nellie. — We  should  be  kind  to  them. 

Frank. — We  should  work  for  them. 

John. — We  should  take  care  of  them,  by  and  by, 
when  we  grow  up. 

Teacher. — Yes,  you  should  always  be  kind  and 
loving  to  your  parents,  even  when  you  are  grown 
men  and  women.  But  there  is  another  duty,  that 
you  all  owe  them  now,  something  that  the  smallest 
child  can  do.    Can  you  tell  me  what  it  is? 

Nellie. — We  ought  to  do  what  they  tell  us. 

John. — We  ought  to  obey  them. 

Teacher. — ^Yes,  you  ow^e  your  parents  obedience 
because  of  their  care  for  you.  Do  you  think  that 
Bertha  ought  to  obey  her  aunt,  w^ho  takes  care  of 
her? 

Fannie. — I  think  that  she  ought. 

Teacher. — Can  you  tell  me  w^hy? 

John. — Because  her  aunt  takes  her  mother's  place. 

Teacher. — Is  it  your  duty  to  obey  your  teachers? 


12  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

Harry. — Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — Can  jou  tell  me  why? 

Harry. — Our  teachers  have  the  charge  of  us  \\'heii 
we  are  iu  school,  in  place  of  our  parents. 

Teacher. — You  are  right,  and  when  your  parents 
send  you  to  school,  they  give  up  the  control  of  you, 
to  your  teachers,  for  the  time  that  you  are  under 
their  care. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  tiy  to  be  obedient. 


LESSON  II. 

WHY  CHILDREN  SHOULD  OBEY. 

Teacher. — In  our  last  lesson  you  told  me  that 
children  ought  to  be  obedient.  There  are  many 
reasons  why  they  ought  to  obey  those  who  have 
the  care  of  them.  Baby  Alice  wants  to  climb  up 
the  stairs,  but  her  mamma  knows  that  it  is  not 
safe  for  her  to  do  it,  and  will  not  let  her.  Why 
should  Alice  obey  her  mamma? 

Annie. — Because  she  would  get  hurt  if  she  didn't. 

Teacher. — Why  doesn't  she  know  that  herself? 

Jennie. — She  is  too  little. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  13 

Teacher. — You  are  right.  She  is  too  young  to 
know  what  is  safe  for  her  to  do,  just  as  some  of 
these  bo3's  are  too  3'oung  to  kuow  that  it  is  not 
safe  to  jump  on  the  cars,  and  would  do  it  if  they 
were  not  forbidden.  A  good  many  boys  have 
been  badly  hurt,  and  some  killed  that  way.  It 
would  not  have  happened  to  them  had  they  been 
obedient. 

Harry  hates  study  and  would  like  to  play 
all  the  time,  but  he  learns  his  lessons  well, 
because  his  parents  know  how  much  better  and 
happier  he  wDl  be  for  it  all  his  life.  Harry  doesn't 
know  what  is  best  for  him,  but  he  is  obedient,  and 
so  is  doing  what  is  best. 

Little  Tommy  heard  a  wicked  man  swear.  He 
didn't  know  how  bad  it  was,  but  his  mamma  told 
him  that  he  must  never  use  such  words,  because 
God  had  forbidden  it.    Who  is  God,  children? 

Nellie. — Our  Father  in  Heaven. 

Teacher. — Yes,  and  He  knows  just  what  we 
ought  to  do,  to  be  well,  and  happy,  and  useful 
all  our  lives.  Now  you  mny  tell  me  some  of  the 
reasons  why  you  should  be  obedient. 

Jennie. — Because  we  don't  know  what  we  ought 
to  do  and  our  parents  tell  us. 

Fred. — Boys  and  girls  who  don't  like  to  study 


14  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

would  gTow  up  to  be  dunces,  if  they  didn't  mind 
their  parents  and  come  to  school. 

Nellie. — We  shouldn't  know  what  is  right  to  do 
if  our  parents  didn't  tell  us. 

Teacher. — Children  do  not  know  w^hat  is  safe  or 
best  or  right  to  do.  If  left  to  themselves  they  would 
soon  become  sick,  and  ui'happy  and  wicked.  God 
has  told  3'our  parents  and  teachers  and  all  men  and 
women  to  obey  Him,  because  He  knows  what  is 
best  and  wisest  and  perectly  right  to  do.  These  are 
the  reasons  why  children  are  taken  care  of  by 
parents,  whom  they  must  obey. 

SUMMARY. 

I  am  too  young  to  know  what  is  safe  and  best 
and  right  to  do,  and  my  parents  and  teachers  are 
given  me  by  our  Father  in  Heaven  to  teach  me 
to  do  as  I  ought. 

LESSON  III. 

HOW   CHILDREN  SHOULD  OBEY. 

Teacher. — One  evening  Clara,  and  Clarke,  and 
little  Robin  were  having  a  delightful  timie,  when 
the  clock  struck  eight.  Clara  was  reading  her  new 
book,  Clarke  was  drawing  the  picture  of  an  engine 
on  his  slate,  Robin  was  building  a  palace  of  blocks. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  15 

"Bed-time!"  shouted  cheery  little  Kobin,  at  the 
first  stroke,  and  was  ready  to  go  with  his  mother 
right  away. 

"I  always  have  to  go  to  bed  just  when  I'm  having 
a  good  time,"  grumbled  Clarke,  but  he  saw  his 
father  looking  at  him  over  his  paper,  so  he  put 
away  his  slate,  and  went  sulkily  up-staii*s. 

"Come,  Clara,"  said  her  mother,  and  Clara  an- 
swered in  a  sweet  tone,  "Yes,  mamma;"  but  she 
went  on  reading,  and  didn't  go  to  bed  till  she  had 
been  told  three  times. 

Which  of  the  children  obeyed  in  the  right  way? 
Jennie  may  tell.  • 

Jennie. — Robin  did,  and  he  was  the  smallest, 
too. 

Teacher. — Can  you  tell  me  why  Clarke  did  not 
do  right?  He  put  away  his  slate  and  went  to 
bed  when  he  was  told.    He  obeyed,  did  he  not? 

Fred. — ^Yes,  he  obeyed,  but  he  was  cross  about  it. 

Teacher.^ You  are  right.  He  should  have  obeyed 
pleasantly,  or  cheerfully.  What  was  wrong  about 
the  way  Clara  obeyed?  She  did  what  her  mother 
told  her  to  do,  and  she  was  pleasant  about  it. 

Fred- — She  had  to  be  told  too  many  times.  She 
ought  to  have  done  it  right  away. 

Teacher. — Then  you  think  that  it  is  the  duty  of 


16  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

children  not  only  to  obey,  but  to  obey  cheerfully 
and  promptly. 

Little  Margaret  had  been  told  by  her  father  not 
to  pick  apples  from  a  certain  tree  in  the  orchard. 
One  day  she  climbed  upon  a  fence,  near  the  tree, 
and  a  beautiful  yellow  apple  bobbed  about,  close 
beside  her,  as  if  it  dared  her  to  touch  it. 

"I  won't  pick  this  apple,"  she  said  to  herself,  "be- 
cause papa  told  me  not  to,  but  I'll  just  bite  it,  to  see 
if  it  is  as  good  as  it  looks."  Before  she  climbed 
down  she  had  not  only  eaten  nearly  all  of  that 
apple,  but  a  x>art  of  a  good  many  of  the  others. 

Her  father  found*  the  cores  on  the  tree,  and  in 
the  evening  when  the  children  were  all  gathered 
about  him,  he  told  them  what  he  had  found.  He 
said  that  the  apples  looked  as  if  some  strange 
bird,  with  a  bill  that  made  marks  like  a  child's 
teeth,  might  liave  eaten  them. 

He  asked  them  no  questions,  but  Margaret, 
who  was  a  brave,  true  child,  confessed  that  she 
was  the  bird  that  had  eaten  the  apples.  Do  you 
think  that  Margaret  disobeyed  her  father? 

Nellie. — I  think  she  did. 

Teacher. — But  her  father  hadn't  told  her  not  to 
eat  the  apples;  he  had  told  her  not  to  pick  them, 
and  she  did  not  pick  them. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  17 

Fred. — She  knew  that  he  meant  that  she  must 
not  touch  them  even  if  he  didn't  say  so. 

Teacher. — You  are  right.  You  should  do  what 
you  know  your  parents  and  teachers  wish  you  to 
do,  even  if  they  have  said  nothing  about  it. 

Will  you  have  to  be  obedient  when  you  are  grown 
up,  and  away  from  home?  What  do  you  think, 
Lucy? 

Lucy. — We  won't  have  to  obey  our  parents  then. 

Harry .^Grown  up  men  have  to  obey  their  bosses. 

Teacher. — Some  men  have  no  bosses.  Do  they 
obey? 

John. — ^No  they  don't  have  to  obey  anyone. 

Teacher. — I  have  heard  of  men  who  would  rather 
steal  than  work.    Are  they  allowed  to  do  so? 

John. — No,  they  have  to  obey  the  law^s. 

Teacher. — You  are  right,  and  if  they  disobey 
the  laws  they  are  punished  for  their  disobedience. 
Many  people  would  do  right  even  if  there  were 
no  laws.    Do  they  obey? 

Harry. — They  obey  God. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  obey  cheerfully  and  promptly. 
I  should  do  what  I  know  my  parents  and  my  teaeh- 


18 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 


ers  wish  me  to  do,  even  when  special  commands 
have  not  been  given  me.  I  should  obey  God  at 
all  times. 


'V' 


LESSOR  IV. 

SAMMY'S    DISOBEDIENCE   AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

You  would  have  loved  him  if  you  had  known 
him,  just  as  everyone  did.  He  was  such  a  lovely 
little  fellow  that  you  couldn't  have  helped  it. 
He  w^as  a  favorite  with  all,  teachers  and  pupils, 


LESSON?    iN    RIGHT    DDIiVC;  1C» 

from  tlie  first  day  that  lie  came  to  school.  1  knew 
him  long'  before  he  reached  my  room,  because 
everyone  knew  Sammy.  He  was  a  good  hoy, 
gentle  and  docile;  he  was  very  beantifnl  too;  but 
I  think  it  was  his  bright,  happy  temper  that  so  drew 
all  hearts  to  liim. 

It  was  while  Sammy  was  in  my  room  that  the 
accident  happened,  as  a  result  of  his  disobedience, 
which  cast  a  blight  over  his  whole  after  life. 

Not  many  months  before,  a  railroad  had  been 
built  through  the  most  qniet  part  of  the  town. 
All  the  children  were  wild  with  excitement  over 
it.  The  track  was  on  a  level  with  the  street,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  keep  the  children  out  of  dan- 
ger but  the  constant  watchfulness  of  parents  and 
teachers,  and  the  fear  of  the  policeman,  or  the 
"officer,"  as  the  children  called  him. 

Sammy,  like  all  the  other  childi'en,  had  been 
forbidden,  again  and  again,  to  play  near  the  rail- 
road. If  he  had  obeyed  he  would  have  saved  him- 
self weeks  of  anguish  and  a  lifetime  of  regret. 

It  was  on  a  bright  Saturday,  in  the  early  summer, 
that  it  happened.  The  air  fairly  sparkled  in  the 
sunlight,  and  all  the  little  ones  of  the  town  were 
enjoying  their  holiday  to  the  utmost. 

Sammy's   father   and   mother   were   away   from 


-0  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

home  that  day,  and  the  children  were  left  in  the 
care  of  an  older  sister.  Hhe  tried  to  look  after 
them  faithfully,  but  in  her  worry  over  the  house- 
keeping and  thought  for  the  babj^  girl,  she  forgot 
the  two  boys,  and  they  were  soon  in  the  street. 

The  railroad  track  was  but  a  sbort  distance 
from  the  house,  and  the  childi^en  found  fliem- 
selves  beside  it.  In  spite  of  a  few  twinges  of 
conscience,  they  greatly  enjoyed  tJieir  stolen 
freedom  and  watched  the  swiftly  moving  trains 
with  the  liveliest  interest.  The  trains  stopped 
coming,  after  awhile,  and  a  car  was  left  standing 
on  the  track. 

Now,  a  new  temptation  came  to  the  boys,  as 
is  so  apt  to  be  the  case  when  one  temptation  is 
yielded  to.  They  began  to  be  very  curious  about 
that  car. 

"She's  a  milk-car;  I  know  her.  I  say,  Morris, 
let's  go  over  there  and  see  what's  in  her,"  said 
Sammy. 

"You  don't  dare,"  said  little  Morris.  "What 
would  mamma  say?" 

"She'll  never  know,"  said  Sammy,  "and  she 
Avouldn't  care  either,  if  she  knew  how  careful  we 
would  be.  She  is  afraid  we  shall  get  hui't,  that's 
all.    I  am  not  afraid.    I  guess  I  am  big  enough  to 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  21 

take  care  of  myself.''  The  boys  walked  toward  the 
car  as  they  talked,  Sammy  leading  the  way. 

"Mamma  wouldn't  care,  I  know  she  wonldn't," 
said  Sammy  again,  although  he  knew  better  all 
the  time.  "There  isn't  a  train  in  sight;  how  can 
we  get  hurt.    I'm  not  afraid." 

"I  wonder  what's  in  her!"  ^aid  Morris  as  he 
looked  the  car  over.  "What  do  you  supi)ose, 
Saminy?" 

"You  stay  here,"  said  Sammy,  "and  I'll  just 
climb  up  and  see;"  and  he  soon  disappeared  in  the 
car.  Morris  stood  still  a  moment  and  then  followed 
after. 

"Hi,  Sammy!  what  are  you  doing  there?"  called 
a  voice  from  the  street. 

"Just  looking,"  said  Sammy.  ''I'm  going  to  stay 
only  a  minute.    It's  fun  here;  come  and  see." 

"Aren't  ^''ou  afraid?"  called  the  voice. 

"Of  course  not,"  answ^ered  Sammy.  "What  is 
there  to  be  afraid  of?  What  can  hurt  us!  There 
won't  be  another  train  for  ever  sodong,  and  we  won't 
stay  more  than  a  minute.  Come  on!"  So  another 
boy  was  added  to  the  number  on  the  milk  car,  and 
others  were  soon  drawn  to  the  place. 

Very  soon  a  fine  game  of  tag,  over  the  steps  and 
through  the  car,  was  being  enjoyed  by  the  thought- 


22  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

less  children.  They  were  so  much  interested  in  the 
game  that  the^^  did  not  hear  the  train  that  was  back- 
ing up  to  take  the  milk  car,  till  it  was  nearl}'  upon 
them.  When  thej  did  discover  it,  they  rushed  off  in 
wild  haste. 

All  succeeded  iu  getting  safely  away,  but 
Sammy.  He  was  last,  and  in  his  fright  fell 
beneath  the  car.  Before  he  could  get  up  the  di'ead- 
ful  wheels  rolled  over  the  poor  child's  leg,  crush- 
ing and  tearing  it,  till  the  lower  leg  hung  only  by 
a  shred  a  little  way  below  the  knee. 

The  poor  little  fellow  was  taken  up  tenderly  and 
carried  home.  The  doctors  came  and  cut  the  leg 
off,  a  little  farther  up,  and  di'essed  it  and  made 
him  as  comfortable  as  they  coukl. 

Then  came  long  weeks  of  suffering.  It  was  a 
sad  household.  The  hot  summer  wore  away  at 
last,  and  Sammy  began  to  get  about  a  little. 
When  the  fall  term  of  school  opened  he  was  able, 
with  the  aid  of  crutches,  to  attend. 

It  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  the  once  bright,  active 
boy  come  swinging  painfully  to  school.  He  had 
never  lost  a  session,  nor  been  once  late,  during 
the  four  years,  from  the  day  on  which  he  entered 
school  to  the  day  on  ^A'hich  he  was  hurt.  But 
now  he  was  not  always  strong  enough  to  come, 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  23 

and  sometimes  the  slow-moving  crutclies  would 
make  him  late,  try  as  he  would. 

The  child's  face  had  changed,  too.  All  the  soft, 
baby  beauty,  all  the  dimples  were  gone.  The 
gay  light  had  faded  out  of  the  eyes.  In  its  place 
Avas  a  look  of  weariness,  that  made  my  heart  ache 
for  him. 

His  playmates,  too,  began  to  neglect  him.  For 
awhile  they  hung  about  him,  but  they  did  not  find 
in  him  the  joU^^  companion  they  once  had  found, 
and,  though  thej  did  not  mean  to  be  selfish,  they 
often  left  him  to  watch  the  gay  sports,  that  he 
could  no  longer  join.  It  was  hard  for  the  boy  who 
had  always  been  the  leader  in  every  game.  Some- 
times some  of  the  old  fun  would  shine  in  his  eyes, 
and  he  would  laugh  almost  as  gaily  as  evei",  but  it 
was  months  before  his  face  lost  much  of  its  sadness. 

He  is  a  grown  man  now,  and,  though  he  does 
not  feel  his  loss,  as  he  did  when  a  child,  he  can 
never  get  away  from  the  thought  that  his  act  of 
disobedience  has  darkened  his  whole  life,  that  he 
can  never  be  a  whole  man. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  try  to  be  obedient.  I  am  too 
young  to  know  what  is  safe  and  best  and  right 
to  do,  and  my  parents  and  teachers  are  given  me 


24  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

by  our  Father  in  Heaven  to  teach  me  to  do  as 
I  ought. 

I  should  obe}^  cheerfull}^  and  promptly. 

I  should  do  what  I  know  my  parents  and  my  teach- 
ers wish  me  to  do,  even  when  special  commands 
have  not  been  given  me. 

I  should  obey  God  at  all  times. 

MOTTO : 

You  say  yon  love  yoiu*  parents  well. 
Yet  I  am  suve  that  I  can  tell 
A  story  that  is  queer, 
Oh,  very,  very  queer. 

You  sulk  and  frov^ai,  when  parents  tell 
To  do  what  does  not  please  you  well ; 
Such  love  is  queer,  I  fear, 
Oh,  very,  very  queer. 

If  you  would  show  a  love  that's  true— 
'Tis  you  I  mean,  and  you,  and  you— 
Obey  mth  smiles,  my  dear, 
And  then  you'll  be  less  queer. 


BLACKBOARD    EXERCISES. 


I  SHOULD  ALWAYS  TRY  TO  BE  OBEDIENT. 

WHY  1   SHOULD   BE   OBEDIEiSlT. 

HOW    1    SHOULD  OBEY. 

WHEN  SPECIAL  COMMANDS  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  GIVEN. 

OBEY  GOD . 


CHAPTER  II. 

PUNCTPU^IvITY, 

LESSON  V. 

PUNCTUALITY  SAVES  MUCH  TROUBLE. 

Teaclier. — Eobert  and  Herbert  Ballard  were 
tmns,  and  as  like  eacli  other  as  two  cberries  grow- 
ing on  the  same  stem.  In  fact,  they  were  so  mnch 
alike  in  looks  that  they  were  often  taken  the  one 
for  the  other.  They  were  mnch  alike  in  character 
also — stndions,  trnthfnl,  honest. 

There  was,  however,  one  point  in  which  the  boys 
were  very  nnlike.  Their  friends  sometimes  called 
them  Ahead-of-Time  Eobert  and  Behind-Time  Her- 
bert. Kobert  was  promptness  itself.  Herbert  could 
never  be  made  to  see  that  it  was  his  duty  to  do 
what  he  had  to  do,  promptly.  He  Avas  late  at  break- 
fast, late  at  school,  late  at  church.  He  was  well 
satisfied  with  himself  when  he  did  what  he  had 
to  do  even  if  he  didn't  do  it  at  the  right  time. 

27 


28  LESSONS    IX    EIGHT    DOING. 

"Boys,"  said  their  motlier  to  them  one  beautiful 
day  in  August,  "Uncle  Arthur  wishes  you  to  be 
at  his  office  this  afternoon  at  three  o'clock." 

"All  right,  we  will  be  there,"  said  Robert.    , 

"What  did  uncle  want?"  asked  Herbert. 

"He  didn't  tell  me  what  he  wanted,"  rei)lied  his 
mother,  "he  was  too  busy." 

When  the  time  came  for  the  boys  to  start  for  their 
uncle's  office,  Herbert  had  a  little  more  work  to  do 
on  a  kite  he  was  making,  while  Robert  had  his  fin- 
ished, and  ready  for  flying. 

"It's  time  to  go  to  the  office,  Bertie,"  said  Robert. 
"I  am  going  now  and  you  had  better  come,  too." 

"I'll  go  in  a  minute,"  said  Herbert.  "There  is 
plenty  of  time.  I'll  put  on  the  finishing  touches, 
and  then  I'll  go." 

"Don't  be  late,  Bertie,"  called  Robert  as  he  ran  off. 
He  reached  the  office  in  good  time,  and  was  delighted 
when  he  found  what  his  uncle  wanted.  They  were 
to  have  a  drive  through  the  jiark,  behind  the  splen- 
did black  horses  that  they  so  much  admired. 

Three  o'clock  brought  his  uncle  from  the  office. 

"Where  is  Herbert?"  he  asked. 

"He  will  be  here  soon,"  said  Robert,  "he  waited 
to  finish  his  kite." 

"Did  you  finish  your  kite?"  asked  his  uncle. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  29 

"Yes,"  said  Hubert,  "but  Bertie  didn't  begin  quite 
so  early  as  I  did." 

"Wliy  not?"  asked  his  uncle. 

"Well,"  said  Robert,  slowl},  ''he  was  a  little 
late  at  breakfast  tliis  morning,  and  that  umdc 
him  late  with  his  work. 

"Which  got  up  first?"  asked  his  uncle. 

"I  did,"  said  Robert,  "but  Bertie  waited  onl}^  a 
little  bit  after  he  was  called." 

"He  has  been  just  a  little  behind  time  all  daj',  has 
he?"  said  his  uncle.  "Well,  this  train  starts  on 
time,  so  jump  in." 

"Please  wait  a  few  minutes  longer,"  cried  Robert. 
"I  am  sure  he  Avill  be  here  soon." 

"I  would,  Robert,  for  your  sake,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible, but  I  can't  do  it,  I  have  onh'  time  enough  for 
the  drive.  I  am  sorr^',  but  we  must  go  without  him." 

You  may  imagine  how  Herbert  felt,  when  he 
reached  the  office,  and  found  what  he  had  lost. 

Did  Herbert  deserve  to  lose  his  ride?  What  do 
you  think  about  it,  John? 

John. — I  think  he  did. 

Teacher. — What  do  you  think,  Nellie? 

Nellie. — I  suppose  he  did,  but  it  was  too  bad. 

Teacher.— Why  did  he' deserve  it? 

Jennie. — Z^ecause  he  ought  to  have  been  on  time. 


30  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

Teaclier. — But  he  thought  it  would  make  no  dif- 
ference if  he  were  a  little  late.  Was  that  a  good 
excuse? 

Harry. — No,  it  was  not. 

Teacher. — But  he  did  not  know  what  his  uncle 
wanted.  Perhaps,  he  would  have  been  early,  if  he 
had  known  about  the  ride.  Was  that  a  good  ex- 
cuse? 

John. — No,  he  ought  to  have  been  early,  any- 
way. 

Teacher. — I  think  that  he  ought,  and  that  he  did 
deserve  to  lose  his  ride. 

But  the  punishment  does  not  always  fall  upon 
the  guilty  one.  Quite  often  some  one  else  suffers 
more  than  the  one  who  is  to  blame. 

After  Herbert  lost  his  ride,  he  resolved  never  to 
be  behind  time  again,  but  he  was,  often  and  often. 

The  next  winter  the  two  hoja  spent  their  Christ- 
mas holidays  in  the  country.  One  day  they  planned 
to  go  to  the  woods,  for  the  Christmas  greens. 
As  usual,  Eobert  started  alone  because  Herbert 
was  not  quite  ready. 

"Come  as  quickly  as  you  can,  Bertie,"  said  Kobert, 
before  he  started,  "it  isn't  pleasant  to  be  in  the 
woods  alone.  I  would  wait  for  3'ou,  but  I  know  we 
couldn't  get  back  in  time,  if  I  did." 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  31 

"I  will  go  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  Herbert,  and 
he  intended  to  do  as  lie  said. 

When  he  went  to  his  room,  to  get  his  overcoat  and 
cap,  he  picked  up  his  Robinson  Crusoe  book,  and 
thought  he  would  read,  "just  a  minute,"  before  he 
started.  He  read  an  hour  before  he  thought  what 
he  Avas  doing,  and  then  rushed  off,  his  conscience 
troubling  him  a  good  deal  over  his  lack  of  prom^jt- 
ness.  The  woods  were  very  soon  reached,  but  Her- 
bert saw  nothing  of  his  brother. 

"Rob,  Rob,"  he  called,  "where  are  you?" 

"Here  I  am,  come  and  help  me,  Bertie,"  called 
his  brother,  faintly,  from  the  depths  of  a  snow  bank. 
Herbert  was  soon  beside  him,  and  helped  him  out 
of  his  unpleasant  position. 

Robert  had  stumbled,  Avhen  he  fu'st  entered  the 
woods,  and  was  caught  in  the  branches  of  a 
fallen  tree,  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  not  get 
up. 

But  he  was  not  hurt,  and  if  his  brother  had  been 
with  him,  or  had  come  a  few  minutes  after  the 
accident  occurred,  the^-  would  both  have  enjoyed 
it,  as  a  good  joke.  Robert  had  lain  an  hour  in  the 
cold  snow,  while  his  brother  was  reading. 

That  night  he  A>-as  ttiken  xerj  sick,  and  it  Avas 
weeks  before  he  could  be  carried  back  to  liis  home. 


32  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

He  was  so  sick,  that,  for  many  clays,  Herbert  was 
not  allowed  to  see  him. 

Poor  Herbert,  it  was  hard,  for  him  to  know  how 
much  his  brother  was  suffering,  as  a  result  of  his 
oTiTi  thoughtless  habit.  He  began  to  see  that  it,  was 
a  duty  to  do  what  he  had  to  do,  promptly.  He 
went  to  Avork  in  earnest,  and  this  time  he  succeeded 
in  curing  himself  of  his  biul  habit.  It  took  a  greai 
eft'ort  on  his  part,  but  in  time  he  was  as  pmictual, 
in  every  way,  as  even  Ahead-of-Time  Robert  could 
have  TN'ished. 

IS^ow  you  may  tell  me  some  reasons  why  you  should 
try  to  be  punctual. 

Fi'ed. — We  are  in  danger  of  getting  into  trouble 
if  we  are  not  on  time. 

Hariy. — We  are  rery  likely  to  lose  a  good  deal  of 
fun  if  we  are  in  the  habit  of  being  late. 

John. — We  make  others  beside  ourselves  trouble 
sometimes,  when  we  are  not  on  time. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  try  to  be  punctual.  If  I  am  not 
punctual,  I  am  in  danger  of  making  myself  and 
others  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  33 

LESSOX  TI. 

PUNCTTTALTTY  SAVES  TIME. 

Teacher. — Six  boys  agreed  to  meet  at  a  certain 
place,  at  nine  o'clock  on  a  Saturday  morning.  Fi-om 
there  they  intended  to  go  to  the  woods  for  nnts. 
Five  boys  were  at  the  appointed  place  at  the  time 
fixed.  The  sixth  came  half  an  honr  later.  The  five 
punctual  boys,  very  good-naturedly,  waited  for  the 
laggard.    How  much  time  did  each  boy  loose? 

Nellie. — Each  lost  half  an  hour. 

Teacher. — How  much  time  did  all  lose? 

George. — All  lost  two  hours  and  a  half. 

Teacher. — Wasn't  that  a  good  deal  of  time  to 
waste? 

John. — I  think  it  was. 

Teacher. — Was  it  right  for  one  boy  to  cause  the 
others  to  waste  so  much  time? 

Jennie. — Xo,  ma'am,  it  was  not  right. 

George. — The  boys  needn't  have  wasted  the  time. 
They  might  haye  played  while  they  were  A\-aiting. 
\  Teacher. — They  didn't  want  to  play.  They 
wanted  to  gather  nuts.  Perhaps  the  boy  who  was 
late,  thought  as  George  does,  that  it  did  not  make 
much  difference.    If  he  did,  he  was  wrong.    He  had 


34  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

no  right  to  take  tlie  time  of  the  boys,  even  if  he  did 
think  that  their  time  was  not  of  much  value. 

Teacher. — When  jou  come  to  school  late  whose 
time  is  lost? 

Frank. — The  time  of  the  one  who  is  late. 

Teacher. — Does  any  one  else  lose  time? 

Harry. — ^Yes,  the  scholars  all  lose  a  little  time, 
when  the  late  one  comes  in. 

Teacher. — Is  it  right  for  any  one  to  take  your  at- 
tention, even  for  a  very  short  time,  by  being  late? 
What  do  you  think  Nellie? 

Nellie. — I  think  it  is  not  right. 

Teacher. — Is  it  right  for  any  one  to  waste  his 
own  time  by  being  late? 

Frank. — No,  it  is  not  right. 

Teacher. — Sometimes,  when  you  are  all  doing 
some  work  on  your  slates,  that  joii  like  very  much, 
and  the  signal  is  given  for  you  to  stop  work  and  sit 
in  order,  a  few  of  you  are  so  much  interested  in 
what  you  are  doing,  that  you  do  not  stop  imme- 
diately, but  TSTite  a  few  w^ords  more,  and  perhaps 
have  to  be  told  to  stop.    Is  that  right? 

Harry. — 'No,  it  is  not  right. 

Teacher. — Can  jou  tell  me  why? 

Frank. — I  don't  know  why,  but  I  think  we  ought 
to  stop  right  away. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  35 

Nellie. — I  think  it  is  disobeying  not  to  stop  just 
as  soon  as  we  are  told. 

Teacher.^ Yes,  it  is  disobeying,  but  why  are  you 
told  to  do  such  things  promptlj^,  Nellie? 

Nellie. — I  don't  know  why. 

Teacher. — I  will  tell  you  one  reason.  It  is  be- 
cause it  sayes  time  for  all  to  stop  at  the  same  in- 
stant, and  whei^e  there  are  so  many  children,  a 
yery  little  time  wasted  makes  a  great  deal  of  time 
for  all.  Do  you  think  that  you  ought  to  do  every- 
thing that  you  are  told  to  do,  promptly? 

John. — I  think  we  ought. 

SUMMAEY. 

If  I  am  not  prompt  in  doing  what  I  liaye  to  do 
I  shall  often  waste  my  own  time  and  the  time  of 
others. 


LESSON  VII. 

PUNCTUALITY  HELPS  OTHER  VIRTUES. 

Teacher. — Herbert  wanted  a  nice,  long,  sharp 
pencil,  to  take  to  school  with  him.  His  mother 
told  him  that  he  would  find  one  on  the  mantel  in 
the  dining  room,  that  he  might  have.    Herbert  knew 


36  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

lie  had  plenty  of  tinie.  He  tlioiiglit  lie  would  finish 
what  he  was  doing  before  he  Avent  for  the  pencil. 
What  do  Tou  think,  children,  was  the  resnlt?  Harry 
may  tell. 

Harrv. — I  think  he  forgot  to  get  it  and  went  to 
school  without  it. 

Teacher. — One  day  Herbert's  father  gave  him  a 
letter,  which  he  asked  him  to  mail.  Herbert  de- 
cided to  play  one  more  game  of  marbles  before  he 
mailed  the  letter,  so  he  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
played  the  game.  AVliat  do  you  think  he  found  in 
his  pocket,  that  night,  when  he  took  off  his  coat? 

Willie. — He  found  the  letter. 

Teacher. — Why  hadn't  he  mailed  the  letter? 

Fred. — Because  he  forgot  it. 

Teacher. — Was  it  Herbert's  fault  that  he  didn't 
mail  the  letter? 

Frank. — I  think  it  was. 

Teacher. — But  he  forgot  it.  I  know  several  chil- 
dren, who,  when  they  do  not  do  something  they 
ought  to  do,  think  they  are  making  a  very  good  ex- 
cuse if  they  say  "I  forgot  all  about  it."  Can  we  help 
forgetting? 

John. — Sometimes  Ave  can't  help  it. 

"Teacher. — Could  Herbert  have  helped  it? 

Harry. — I  think  he  could,  for  he  could  have  gone. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  37 

'aright  away,  and  not  waited  to  play  marbles.  Then 
he  wouldn't  have  forgotten  it. 

Teacher. — Yon  nia^'  tell  me  another  reason  why 
you  shonld  do  what  3"ou  have  to  do,  x)romptly? 

Nellie. — Because,  if  we  put  off  doing  things  tliat 
we  ought  to  do,  we  are  apt  to  forget  to  do  them  at 
all. 

Teacher. — Are  you  excusable  for  forgetting  to  do 
things,  when  your  forgetfulness  is  caused  by  your 
not  doing  them  at  the  i^roper  time? 

John. — No,  ma'am,  we  are  not. 

Teacher. — If  3"0u  often  put  off  doing  what  3'ou 
have  to  do,  you  may  get  a  habit  of  forgetting  that 
will  be  a  trouble  to  you  all  yoiu'  life. 

If  3'ou  get  into  the  habit  of  being  behind  time  now, 
while  you  are  children,  do  you  think  you  will  be  very 
likely  to  grow  up  to  be  prompt  men  and  women? 

Nellie. — I  think  not. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  that  a  Avoman  who  has 
the  habit  of  being  behind  time  A\dll  be  a  ery  apt  to 
take  good  care  of  her  home? 

Jennie. — I  think  not. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  that  a  man  who  has  a 
habit  of  being  behind  time  will  be  apt  to  be  a  A^ery 
good  business  man?  ' 

James. — I  thijik  not. 


38  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

Tenclier. — What  liabit  should  you  try  to  form  now, 
while  you  are  children? 
Nellie. — The  habit  of  being  punctual. 

SUMMARY. 

If  I  put  off  doing  what  I  have  to  do  even  for  a 
few  minutes,  I  am  in  danger  of  forgetting  to  do  it 
at  all 

I  should  try  not  only  to  come  to  school  early,  and 
to  do  all  my  school  work  promptly,  but  1  should  try 
to  do  everything  that  I  have  to  do,  at  the  proper 
time. 

In  this  way  I  shall  form  a  habit  of  being  punctual 
in  all  thinsrs. 


LESSON  VIII. 

THE  ANTI-BEHIND-TIME  SOCIETY. 
PART   I. 

The  youngsters  of  the  little  village  of  Sleepy  Hol- 
low were  mde-awake  enough,  whatever  might  have 
been  said  of  their  elders.  As  a  rule,  they  were  good 
boys  and  found  vent  for  extra  energy  in  directions 
that  were  harmless. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  '.VA 

Kobert  Bruce  was  the  leader  in  nearly  all  the 
plans  for  fun.  I  don't  quite  know  why,  for  he  was 
a  quiet  lad  and  not  over-strong.  Most  of  the  boys 
coidd  out-run  him,  out-skate  him,  out-climb  Ivim. 
Perhaps  his  gift  for  getting  up  new  games  was  his 
strong  point.  One  thing  I  do  know,  when  anything 
new  was  started,  Eob  Bruce  Avas  sure  to  be  at  the 
head  of  it. 

One  fall,  the  boys  had  an  unusually  dull  time. 
This  may  have  been  partly  because  it  w^as  war  time, 
and  their  minds  were  too  much  taken  up  with  bat- 
tles for  them  to  think  very  much  of  plans  for  fun. 

But  towards  the  close  of  the  fall  term  of  school 
there  came  a  change.  Almost  anybody  could  have 
felt  it  in  the  air.  A  new  idea  had  struck  Robert 
Bruce,  and  he  was  working  it  out.  This  time  the 
plan  took  the  form  of  a  secret  society.  Societies  of 
all  sorts  and  kinds  had  been  formed  before,  but  this 
one  was  to  be  a  very  different  affair. 

Robert  had  it  all  planned  out  before  he  said  any- 
thing about  it,  and  then  half  a  dozen  of  his  chief 
chums  were  incited  to  a  conference  in  the  old  barn 
that  had  served  as  town  hall  for  the  village  boys  for 
a  score  or  more  of  years.  There  was  much  whisper- 
ing, and  many  nods  and  winks  were  indulged  in  on 
the  sly. 


40 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 


The  boys  who  had  not  been  asked  to  join  were 
much  disgusted,  and  loudly  expressed  their  con- 
tempt for  the  new  society.  They  were  quickh^  paci- 
fied, however,  by  a  promise  that  they  should .  be 
asked  to  join  in  a  few  days. 


Saturday  came  and  brought  the  boys  together  for 
the  fii'st  meeting.    Kobert  mounted  the  barrel  which 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  41 

served  as  speaker's  stand,  and  there  made  the  open- 
in£»'  speech. 

With  a  deep  bow  and  a  grand  flourish  he  began: 
"Fellow  Citizens — I  have  incited  joii  to  come  here 
to-day,  because  I  think  it  is  high  time  we  were  doing 
something  besides  mope.  We  haven't  had  a  bit  of 
fun  since  we  gathered  the  last  butternut  and  stored 
it  away,  ready  for  some  lazy  squirrel  to  carry 
home  without  taking  the  trouble  to  climb  a  tree 
after  it." 

"Say,  Rob,"  broke  in  Fred  Trent,  "have  the 
squirrels  got  all  the  nuts?" 

"Not  this  year,"  answered  Rob,  "but  don't  inter- 
rupt again,  or  you'll  be  put  out." 

"  Better  spell  able, "  bristled  Fred.  "  It  would  take 
more  than  you  to  do  it." 

"Keep  still,"  shouted  Jack  Raymond,  "I  want  to 
hear  Rob's  sj)eech." 

"Speech!  Speech!"  shouted  the  other  boys. 

"Well,"  w^ent  on  Rob,  "as  I  was  saying,  we  haven't 
had  a  bit  of  fun  since  Ave  gathered  nuts  more  than 
a  month  ago.  I  think  it's  time  we  started  some- 
thing new,  and  it  ought  to  be  something  more  than 
just  fun.  Our  fathers  and  brothers  are  off  down 
South  fighting  for  us.- 

Here  Rob  stopped  and  winked  very  hard.    His 


42  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

father  was  a  cliaplain  in  tlie  army;  Jack  Raymond's 
oldest  brother  was  lying  sick  in  a  hospital;  each  of 
the  other  boys  had  seen  some  one,  whom  he  loved, 
march  away  to  battle  fields. 

Robert  swallowed  something  in  his  throat  and 
went  on:  "I  think  we  onght  to  do  something  in  the 
fighting  line  ourselves." 

Here  Robert  surprised  the  boys  by  suddenly  leap- 
ing from  the  barrels  into  the  haymow  and  making 
a  somersault  in  the  hay.  He  came  up  straight  in  a 
minute,  and  went  on,  as  calmly  as  if  he  had  not 
interrupted  himself  in  such  an  unheard-of  manner. 

"Now  I  have  noticed  that  while  we  are.  lively 
enough  when  any  kind  of  fun  is  going  on,  we're 
rather  'Sleepy-Hollow'  kind  of  fellows  about  some 
things.  ^Ve  play  soldiers  and  march,  and  wave  our 
flags  and  yell,  but  we  are  not  much  like  soldiers 
when  it  comes  to  some  other  things." 

"What  things,  I  should  like  to  know?"  cried  Fred 
Trent,  fiercely.  "I'm  not  a  coward,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean.  I  am  not  afi'aid  of  you,  nor  your  father, 
nor  any  of  the  rest  of  the  Bruces." 

Rob  gave  Fred  a  disgusted  look  and  went  on: 
"Do  you  suppose  our  soldiers  are  late  at  roll  call? 
Do  you  suppose  that  when  the  general  teUs  them 
to  charge  the  enemy,  they  say,  'I  will  in  a  minute;' 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  43 

or,  when  they  are  ordered  to  take  a  battery,  do  you 
suppose  the}"  ever  say,  ^Cau't  Compau}"  C  do  it? 
Thej"  are  nearer.'  Do  you  suppose  they  ever  say 
such  things?" 

There  was  a  faint  chorus  of  "No,  no,"  from  the 
boys. 

A  silence  followed  which  was  broken  by  Rob, 
who  asked,  suddenly:  "How  many  times  have  you 
been  late  at  school  this  term,  Jack  Raymond?" 

"Not  more  than  a  dozen,"  answered  Jack,  mth 
a  laugh. 

"The  rest  of  us  have  done  about  as  well,"  said  Rob. 

PART  II. 

"Now  I'll  tell  you  wliat  made  me  think  about  all 
this,"  went  on  Rob.  "The  other  day  mother  called 
me  to  go  to  the  well  to  get  a  pail  of  water  for  her. 
I  was  reading  about  the  last  battle,  and  how  splen- 
didly the  soldiers  on  both  sides  had  fought,  and  I 
said,  'I'll  go  in  a  minute.'  " 

"I  guess  it  was  half  an  hour  before  I  thought  of 
the  water  again,  and  when  I  rushed  out  to  get  it 
I  found  I  was  too  late.  Mother  had  brought  it 
herself.  Didn't  I  feel  mean!  Then  I  thought  about 
forming  this  society.  .  Perhaps  it  will  helj)  us  fel- 
lows to  be  on  time." 


44  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

"I  thought  we  came  here  for  fnn,"  said  Fred  Trent. 
"I,  for  one,  didn't  come  to  hear  Rob  Bruce  preach. 
He  had  better  leave  that  to  his  father.  I  won't  join 
any  such  old  society." 

"All  right,"  said  Rob,  "you  needn't  if  you  don't 
want  to,  only  remember  3^ou  daren't  tell  of  any- 
thing that  we  have  said." 

"Who's  to  hinder?"  cried  Fred;  "I'll  tell  just  as 
much  as  I  choose." 

"Oh,  you  promised,  you  promised,"  cried  Clar- 
ence Clapp. 

Good  natured  Jack  Raymond,  for  once,  was  angry 
enough  to  say  with  a  look  that  Fred  didn't  like, 
"Tell,  if  you  dare." 

At  that  Fred  subsided.  As  he  was  rather  curious 
to  know  what  Robert  meant  to  do,  he  said  nothing- 
more  about  not  joining  the  society. 

Now  that  Fred  was  disposed  of,  Rob  went  on;  "We 
will  have  plenty  of  fun,  too.  We  "\^dll  have  a  name, 
and  badges,  and  will  meet  here  every  Saturday  to 
report." 

"We  ought  to  have  a  president  and  such  things," 
said  Clarence  Clapp. 

"Of  course  we  must  have  a  president,"  broke  in 
Fred.  I  want  to  be  president.  If  3^ou  will  make  iftQ 
president  I'll  join;  if  not,  I  won't,  so  there!" 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  45 

"A  pretty  president  you'd  make,"  cried  Jack  Ray- 
mond. "I  think  I  ought  to  be  ]iresident  because  I'm 
the  oklest  and  the  tallest." 

"I  think  Rob  ought  to  be  president,"  piped  up 
Rob's  little  brother  Rali)h,  'cause  he  started  it,  and 
I  will  nomi-nomi — what  is  that  big  word,  Rob?" — 

At  that  they  all  shouted  with  laughter,  and  poor 
little  Ralph  rolled  over  and  hid  his  face  in  the  hay. 

But  if  RMph  didn't  nominate  Rob,  some  one  else 
did,  and  A'ery  soon  he  was  made  president  and  Fred 
Trent  didn't  leave  the  society  either. 

Jack  was  made  secretary  because  he  was  a  good 
writer,  and  Clarence  was  made  treasurer,  though 
there  were  no  funds  to  keep.  That  made  no  dif- 
ference; Clarence  was  an  officer,  and  was  happy. 

After  a  good  deal  of  talk,  the  society  was  named 
the  "Anti-Behind-Time  Society."  The  badge  was  to 
be  a  white  hen's  feather  colored  red  on  one  side  and 
blue  on  the  other,  with  the  white  quill  in  the  center. 
The  coloring  and  preparing  of  badges  Clarence  un- 
dertook to  do,  as  he  had  a  big  sister  who  was  an 
artist,  and  he  was  sure  she  would  help  him. 

Jack  wrote  in  a  blauk  book,  which  Rob  had  ready, 
the  rules  of  the  Society. 

All  the  bo3's  who  joined  had  to  promise  to  do 
their  best  never  to  be  late  at  school,  never  to  be 


46  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

late  at  the  meetings  of  tlie  "Anti-Beliind-Time  So- 
ciety," and  to  do  everything  that  they  had  to  do  ex- 
actly on  time. 

Fred  Trent  refused  to  join,  at  first,  but  when  Kob 
proposed  various  plans  for  fun,  one  of  which  was, 
that  the  Society  was  to  be  invited,  once  a  month 
during  the  winter,  to  come  to  the  parsonage  dining- 
room,  there  to  eat  apples,  crack  nuts,  pop  corn,  and 
play  games,  he  signed  his  name  like  a  man. 

Jack  Raymond  proposed  a  plan  for  helping  one 
another  to  keep  the  rules,  that  was  greeted  with 
great  applause.  It  was  this — If  any  boy  saw  another 
one  waiting  when  he  had  anything  he  ought  to  do, 
he  was  to  speak  one  word.  At  that  word  the  boy 
must  start  without  hesitating  a  moment.  The  word 
decided  upon  was  "Subordination."  This  plan  was 
very  pleasing  to  the  small  boys,  who  foresaw  great 
fun  in  being  able  to  command  instant  obedience  on 
the  part  of  their  larger  brothers. 

The  society  proved  a  great  success.  For  the  next 
three  or  four  months  the  grown-up  portion  of  Sleepy 
Hollow  had  little  cause  to  complain  of  lack  of 
promptness  in  its  boys. 

No  one,  outside  of  the  society,  knew  why  the  mag- 
ical word,  ''Subordination,"  had  such  a  wonderful 
effect  upon  the  boys,  who  were  so  afraid  of  having 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  47 

it  shouted  after  them  that  they  no  longer  dared 
to  be  "Sleepy-Hollow"  fellows,  but  were  up  and 
doing.  The  society  did  not  last  very  long,  but 
some  of  the  boys,  Rob  and  Jack  among  the  num- 
ber, got  into  such  a  habit  of  being  prompt,  that 
they  have  kept  the  habit  till  this  day. 

SUMMAKY. 

I  should  always  try  to  be  punctual. 

If  I  am  not  punctual,  I  am  in  danger  of  making 
myself  and  others  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

If  I  am  not  prompt  in  doing  what  I  have  to  do, 
I  shall  often  waste  my  own  time  and  the  time  of 
others. 

If  I  put  off  doing  what  I  have  to  do  even  for  a 
few  minutes  I  am  in  danger  of  forgetting  to  do  it 
at  all. 

I  should  try  not  only  to  come  to  school  early  and 
to  do  all  my  school  work  promptly,  but  I  should 
try  to  do  everything  that  I  have  to  do  at  the  proper 
time. 

In  this  way  I  shall  form  a  habit  of  being  punctual 
in  all  things. 

MOTTO : 

If  you've  anything  to  do,  my  dear, 

Why,   do  it, 
For.  if  rlnty  yon  put  off,  I  fear 

You'll  rue  it. 


BLACKBOARD   EXERCISES. 

I  SHOUULD  ALWAYS  TRY  TO  BE  PUNCTUAL. 

SAVES  TROUBIS, 

SAVES  TIME, 

PREVENTS  DUTIES  FROM  BEING  FORGOTTEN. 

HOW  I  SHOULD  BE  PUNCTUAL. 

HABIT. 


CHAPTER  III. 


KINDNKSS. 
LESSON  IX. 

KINDNESS  TO  RELATIVES  AND  FRIENDS. 

Teacher. — You  liave  learned  in  tlie  lesson  on  obe- 
dience liow  3^ou  ought  to  treat  your  parents,  so 
I  do  not  need  to  speak  about  it  now;  but  there 
are  others  whom  you  should  learn  how  to  treat. 

Arthur  Davis  had  a  little  brother,  David,  of 
whom  he  was  very  fond.  Arthur  was  a  big  fellow, 
fourteen  years  of  age,  David  was  but  six.  These 
boys  lived  on  a  great  farm  on  a  western  prairie. 
They  could  stand  beside  their  door  and  look 
away  over  miles  of  rolling  prairie,  which  was  cov- 
ered, at  the  time  of  my  stor^^,  with  waving  grain. 

One  day  Arthur's  father  sent  him  on  an  errand 
to  his  uncle's.  His  uncle  lived  half  a  mile  away  on 
an  adjoining  farm.    Arthur  wanted  to  go  fishing, 

51 


»2  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

SO  lie  sent  liis  little  brother  to  do  tlie  errand,  in- 
stead of  doing  it  himself. 

He  knew  that  it  was  not  safe  for  his  little 
brother  to  go  through  the  great  cornfield  that  led 
to  his  uncle's  house,  alone.  He  knew  that  neither 
his  father  nor  mother  would,  for  one  moment, 
have  thought  of  letting  the  child  do  the  errand. 
But  he  did  not  waut  to  have  his  own  pleasure 
spoiled.  He  watched  Davie  till  he  was  out  of  sight, 
and  then  started  for  the  river. 

When  Arthur  returned  home  that  evening  he 
learned  that  Davie  was  lost.  His  absence  had  been 
found  out,  and  all  the  i^eople  of  the  neighborhood 
were  out  looking  for  him.  Two  long  days  and 
nights  passed  before  the  poor  little  fellow  was 
discovered.  He  had  lost  his  way  in  the  great  field  of 
waving  corn,  and  had  wandered  about  until  he 
grew  sick  with  the  fright;  and  when  they  foimd 
him  he  was  so  sick  that  he  did  not  know  Arthur 
and  could  not  speak  to  him. 

What  do  you  think  of  the  way  in  which  Arthur 
treated  his  little  brother? 

John. — It  was  selfish. 

Fred. — It  was  cruel. 

Frank. — It  was  very  unkind. 

Teacher. — ^Nettie   had    a   little  sister,,    several! 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  53 

years  younger  than  herself.  Nettie  didn't  like  to 
have  the  care  of  her  sister,  so  she  was  often  veiy 
cross  to  her.  Sometimes  she  ran  away  from  her,  and 
left  her,  crying,  alone.  Sometimes  she  struck  her. 
Was  that  right? 

Nellie. — No,  it  was  not  right. 

Teacher. — How  ought  you  always  to  treat  your 
little  brothers  and  sisters? 

Fred. — We  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 

Teacher. — Sometimes  I  have  seen  little  children 
treat  theu*  older  brothers  and  sisters  in  a  very  dis- 
agreeable manner.    Is  that  right? 

Nellie. — No,  ma'am,  it  is  not  right. 

Teacher. — When  older  children  have  the  care  of 
little  ones,  how  should  thej^  treat  them? 

Nellie. — They  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 

Clara. — They  ought  to  take  good  care  of  them. 

Jennie. — They  ought  to  be  pleasant  to  them. 

Teacher. — Yes,  older  childi'en  ought  to  keep  the 
little  ones  from  harm,  and  not  send  them  into 
danger,  as  Arthur  did  his  brother.  And  the  little 
ones  ought  to  be  pleasant  to  the  older  ones  and 
do  as  they  want  them  to  do,  when  left  in  their  care. 
You  ought  always  to  be  specially  kind  toward  all 
those  of  your  own  family.  They  shoidd  always 
be  first  in  your  regard. 


54  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

How  ought  you  to  treat  your  friends  and  com- 
panions? 

Harry. — We  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 

Teacher. — Yes,  it  is  your  duty  to  be  kind  to  your 
friends. 

Don't  say  hateful,  spiteful  things  and  do  dis- 
agreeable things  to  those  of  whom  you  are  really 
very  fond.  Many  children  are  constantly  quarrel- 
ing with  their  friends.  They  would  not  do  it  if 
they  were  trying  all  the  time  to  treat  them  kindly- 
Do  you  think  it  is  right  for  children  to  tease  each 
other? 

Tommy. — I  don't  know.    I  think  it  is  fun. 

Teacher. — What  do  you  think,  Fannie? 

Fannie. — I  know  I  don't  like  to  be  teased.  My 
brother  teases  me  sometimes,  and  I  don't  like  it. 

Teacher. — How  mau}^  of  you  like  to  be  teased? 
All  who  do,  raise  hands. 

No  hands  are  raised,  but  Fred  says  he  doesn't 
care  veiy  much. 

Teacher. — No  one  likes  to  be  teased,  though  some 
don't  mind  it  so  much  as  others.  If  you  take  notice, 
you  will  find  that  those  who  like  to  tease,  only 
tease  those  who  are  easily  angered  or  vexed. 
There  is  no  "fun"  in  it  unless  they  are. 

Then,  teasing  others  interferes  with  their  happi- 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  55 

ness,  and  it  is  not  right  to  do  what  will  interfere^ 
with  the  happiness  of  any  one,  even  if  it  is  ^^fiin," 
as  Tommy  calls  it.  It  certainly  is  very  unkind  to 
enjoy  one's  self  by  making  others  iinliappy. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  try  to  treat  others  kindly. 
I  should  be  specially  kind  to  all  members  of  my 
ow^n  family. 
I  should  be  very  kind  to  my  fiiends. 


LESSON  X. 

GRATITUDE. 

Teacher. — A  kind  lady  once  took  a  little  boy  into 
her  home.  The  boy  had  neither  father  nor  mother. 
The  lady  was  very  aovvj  for  him,  so  she  tried  to  be 
both  father  and  mother  to  him. 

She  was  not  rich,  and  she  had  to  work  hard  to 
take  care  of  him.  She  went  without  many  things 
that  she  wanted,  so  that  he  should  be  comfortable. 
She  spent  many  hours  in  playing  games  with  him, 
and  in  reading  to  him,  so  that  he  should  be  happy. 


56  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

She  educated  liim.  She  loved  him  very  tenderly 
and  tried  to  teach  him  to  do  right.  How  do  you 
think  the  boy  ought  to  have  treated  the  lady? 

John. — He  ought  to  have  been  as  kind  to  her  as 
she  was  to  him. 

Nellie. — He  ought  to  have  done  all  the  kind  things 

he  could. 

Teacher. — Ought  yon  always  to  be  kind  to  those 
who  have  been  kind  to  you? 

Harry. — I  think  we  ought. 

Teacher. — You  certainly  ought.  It  is  much  worse 
to  be  unkind  to  those  who  have  been  very  kind  to 
you,  than  to  be  unkind  to  those  who  have  showTi 
you  no  kindness.  You  ought  to  feel  kindly  toward 
those  'T\^ho  have  shoA\Ti  you  kindness.  This  we 
call  being  grateful.  You  should  show  your  grati- 
tude by  kind  actions.  There  is  nothing  worse  than 
being  ungrateful  to  those  to  whom  you  owe  grati- 
tude. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  be  grateful  to  those  who  have  been 
kind  to  me,  and  should  show  my  gratitude  by 
doing  kind  things  to  them. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  57 

LESSON  XI. 

KINDNESS  TO  THE  UNFORTUNATE,  THE  IGNORANT  AND  THE 
WICKED. 

Teacher. — Once  there  was  a  little  boy  who  had  uo 
home  and  no  friends.  Sometimes  he  had  nowhere 
to  sleep,  except  the  street,  and  sometimes  he  had 
notlmg-  to  eat  when  he  was  hungry.  This  boy's 
name  was  Ned. 

When  the  boys  of  the  place  where  little  Ned 
lived,  found  out  how  poor  he  was,  and  that  he 
had  no  home,  they  were  very  kind  to  him.  If  one 
of  them  found  him  at  evening  mth  no  place  to 
sleep  in,  he  would  take  him  home  with  him  and 
let  him  share  his  bed. 

Poor  as  Ned  was,  he  was  always  clean,  so  the  boys' 
mothers  were  willing  to  let  him  stay  in  their  homes. 
The  boys  took  care  of  Ned  in  this  way  for  several 
weeks.  They  would  let  no  one  hurt  him,  and  tiiey 
gave  him  food,  so  that  he  was  never  hungry  any 
more.  At  last  a  good  home  was  found  for  poor 
little  Ned. 

Did  the  boys  do  right?  Was  it  their  duty  to  care 
for  little  Ned?  He  was  not  a  friend.  He  had  done 
nothing  for  them. 

John. — I  think  they  did  right. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  it  your  duty  to  treat  all 


58  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

with  whom  you  have  anything  to  do,  kindly,  even 
if  they  are  not  your  Mends? 

Jennie. — I  think  it  is. 

Teacher. — How  ought  boys  to  treat  those  who  are 
smaller  and  weaker  than  themselves? 

Fred. — They  ought  to  be  just  as  kind  to  them  as 
if  they  were  big  enough  to  take  theii'  own  part. 

Teacher. — You  are  right;  and  let  me  tell  you,  there 
is  nothing  finer  nor  manlier  in  a  big,  strong  boy, 
than  a  gentle,  kindly  way  of  treating  all  those  who 
are  smaller  or  less  strong  than  himself. 

Do  you  think  it  is  always  your  duty  to  treat  every 
one  kindly? 

Jennie. — I  think  it  is. 

Teacher. — Some  children  are  ragged  and  dirty. 
How  ought  you  to  treat  them? 

James. — We  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 

Teacher. — Some  children  are  stupid  and  some  are 
ignorant.    How  ought  you  to  treat  them? 

Harry. — ^I  think  if  we  have  anything  to  do  with 
them,  that  we  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 

Teacher. — You  ought  not  only  to  be  kind  to  them, 
but  if  they  are  in  danger  of  getting  into  trouble 
and  you  can  help  them,  you  ought  to  do  it. 

Some  children  are  bad,  mcked  childi'en.  How 
ought  you  to  treat  them? 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  59 

John. — I  think  we  ought  never  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  sucli  c'hiklren. 

Teacher, — One  day,  when  Frank  w^as  going  home 
from  school,  he  saw  a  boy  slip  and  fall  heavily  to 
the  ground.  The  boy  began  to  swear  and  to  use 
such  wicked  language  that  Frank  knew  that  he  was 
a  very  bad  boy.  He  was  so  badly  hurt  that  he  could 
not  get  up.  What  do  you  think  Frank  ought  to 
have  done? 

John. — He  ought  to  have  helped  him. 

Teacher. — You  ought  never  to  make  companions 
of  Avicked  children,  but  you  are  sometimes  obliged 
to  have  something  to  do  with  them.  When  you 
are,  how  should  j^ou  treat  them,  kindly  or  un- 
kindly? 

Harry. — We  ought  to  treat  them  kindly. 

Teacher. — Yes,  and  if  you  can  do  anything  to  make 
them  try  to  be  better  children,  be  sure  to  do  it. 

Always  remember  this,  when  you  feel  inclined  to 
despise  the  wicked,  that  many  of  them  are  what 
they  are  because  of  their  surroundings.  You 
might  have  been  no  better  than  they  if  you  had 
been  placed  as  they  have  been.  This  ought  to  make 
you  feel  humble,  and  help  you  to  treat  such  children 
kindly.  The  Bible  tells  us  that  %e  ought  to  love 
om*  neighbors  as  ourselves,  and  shows  us,  too,  that 


6U  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

all  with  whom  we  have  anything  to  do,  are  our 
neighbors.. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  be  kind  to  all  with  whom  I  have  any- 
thing to  do,  even  if  they  are  not  such  childi'en  as 
I  would  choose  for  companions. 

I  should  be  kind  to  the  unfortunate,  to  the  igno- 
rant, and  to  those  who  are  weaker  than  I. 

I  should  treat  even  the  wicked  kindly. 


LESSON  XII. 

FORGIVENESS  OF  INJURIES. 

Teacher. — Charlie  Grant  was  spinning  along  on  his 
bicycle  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  when  a  boy  ran  in 
front  of  him  and  called,  "Hello!  youngster,  give 
me  a  ride." 

"I  can't  now,"  answered  Charlie,  "I'm  in  a  hurry. 
Uncle  John  is  going  to  take  me  to  the  magic-lantern 
show  this  evening.  I  must  hurry,  for  if  I'm  not 
on  time,  Uncle  John  won't  wait.  He  never  waits, 
and  I  have  only  just  time  enough  to  get  there. 
Please  get  out  of  the  way  and  let  me  go  on." 


LESSONS    IN    L'Kilir    IM)TN«.  Gl 

But  the  boy  wiis  iu  a  disagreeable  iikkkI.  He  had 
no  Uncle  John  to  give  him  bievch's  or  to  take  him  to 
magic-lanteni  shows.    It  made  liim  feel  cross. 

"What  do  I  care  for  yonr  okl  shows,"  he  said 
roughly;  "jump  off  and  give  me  a  ride." 

Charlie  was  a  pluck}'  little  fellow,  and  he  knew 
he  was  in  the  right,  so  he  stuck  stoutly  to  his 
bic3'cle. 

But  the  bo}'  was  much  larger  and  stronger  than 
he,  and  soon  jerked  him  off  from  the  bicycle,  and 
seated  himself  upon  it.  He  rode  several  times 
around  the  block  before  he  returned  it  to  Charlie; 
then  he  ran  off,  calling  back  to  him,  "No  show  for 
you  this  evening,  3'oungster!"  He  was  right,  as 
Charlie  found  when  -he  reached  his  uncle's  house. 

The  next  day  he  went  to  his  uncle  and  told  him 
all  about  it.  "Wasn't  it  mean.  Uncle?"  he  cried, 
when  he  had  finished  the  story.  "I  would  like  to 
pay  him  off  for  it." 

"I  think  he  deserves  to  be  punished  in  some  way," 
said  his  uncle.  "Do  you  know  anything  about  the 
boy?" 

"Yes,  Uncle;  he  lives  in  our  street,  and  it  isn't 
the  first  time  he  has  done  such  things  to  me.  I 
would  like  to  thrash  him  if  I  was  strong  enough, 
but  he  is  too  big." 


62  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

"Do  yon  suppose  lie  would  like  to  go  to  the  niagic- 
lanteru  show?"  asked  Uncle  John. 

"Of  course  he  would,"  said  Charlie,  "any  fellow 
would  like  it,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  went 
to  one  in  his  life. 

"Well,"  said  his  uncle,  very  gravely,  "I  will 
take  you  and  one  other  boy  this  evening,  if  you 
will  be  sui'e  to  be  here  on  time." 

"You  don't  mean.  Uncle,  you  can't  mean,  that 
you  would  have  me  incite  Will  to  go  to  the  magic- 
lantern  show  with  us,"  said  Charlie. 

"He  is  3'our  enemy,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  su',  I  think  he  is." 

"And  I  am  pretty  sure  that  he  is  just '  hungry '  to 
go  to  the  show,"  said  his  uncle.  "Do  as  you  choose: 
but  I  shall  exi)ect  you  this  evening,  and  I  think 
you  will  bring  with  3  on  a  boy,  that  will,  from  this 
night,  be  your  friend." 

It  was  very  hard  for  Charlie,  but  he  and  his  old 
enemy  went  together  to  the  show.  From  that  day 
they  were  friends.  Did  Charlie  do  right  when  he 
asked  the  boy  to  go  with  him? 

Fred. — I  don't  know. 

Teacher. — If  any  one  treats  3'ou  unkindly  how 
ought  you  to  treat  him  in  return? 

Harry. — I  think  we  ought  to  pay  him  back. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  63 

Teaclier. — What  do  joii  think  about  it,  Fred? 

Fred. — I  am  not  sure  wliat  we  ous^iit  to  do,  but 
if  any  one  hits  me  I  mean  to  hit  him  back.  I  am 
not  going  to  let  any  one  impose  on  me  and  not  pay 
him  back. 

Teacher. — Because  some  one  has  done  a  wrong  to 
you,  does  that  make  it  right  for  you  to  do  a  wrong? 

Fred. — Well,  no,  I  suppose  not. 

Teacher. — Then  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
do  what  you  know  to  be  wi^ong,  have  you? 

Fred. — ^^o,  I  don't  mean  to  do  that,  but  do  you 
tliink  we  ought  to  let  any  one  impose  on  us  and 
not  pay  back? 

Teacher. — I  think  you  ought  not  to  let  any  one 
impose  on  you,  if  you  can  prevent  it,  but  if  any 
one  does  wrong  jow,  I  certainly  think  you  ought 
not  to  "pay  back,"  by  doing  an  unkind  thing  in 
return.  You  ought  to  forgive  the  injmy.  Don't 
you  think  it  was  much  nobler  in  Charlie  to  do 
the  boy  who  injured  him  a  kindness,  than  to  have 
"paid  him  back  in  his  own  coin?" 

Nellie. — I  think  it  was. 

Teacher. — Jesus  said,  "Love  your  enemies,  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  you,  bless  them  that  curse 
you  and  pray  for  them  that  despitefuUy  use  you." 
I  know  that  it  is  sometimes  very  hard  to  forgiA-e, 


f»4  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

but  it  is  riglit.  You  will  soon  find  that  jou  will 
liave  few  iu juries  to  forgive,  for  the  worst  persons 
do  not  often  injure  those  who  are  constantly  kind, 
and  gentle,  and  forgiving. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  forgive  those  who  injure  me,  and  treat 
them  kindly. 


LESSON  XIII. 

KINDNESS    TO    ANIMALS. 

Teacher.- — There  are  those  to  whom  the  law  of 
kindness  applies  besides  the  human  beings  of  whom 
we  have  spoken.  They  are  helpless  creatures. 
Many  of  them  do  much  for  us.  In  fact,  we  could 
not  well  get  along  ^^thout  them.  Some  of  them 
furnish  us  with  food.  Others  furnish  »is  with 
clothing.  Still  others  take  us  from  place  to  place. 
James  may  tell  me  what  I  am  talking  about. 

James. — You  mean  animals.  * 

Teacher. — How  do  you  think  we  ought  to  treat 
them? 

Fred. — We  ought  to  be  kind  to  them. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  C.;") 

Teacher. — IJoys  and  girls  sometimes  own  cats,  or 
dogs,  or  birds.    How  should  they  treat  these  pets? 

Harry. — They  ought  to  be  good  to  them. 

Teacher. — What  kiud  of  care  should  they  take  of 
them? 

Nellie. — They  should  take  good  care  of  them. 

Teacher. — Yes;  they  are  helpless.    They  cannot 
take  care  of  themselves.    If  you  own  any  pets 
you  should  never  forget  nor  neglect  them.    Is  it 
ever  right  to  take  the  life  of  an  animal? 

John. — Yes;  when  we  want  them  for  food. 

Teacher. — Can  you  tell  me  any  other  times  when 
it  is  right  to  kill  animals? 

Mary. — I  think  it  is  right  to  kill  them  when  we 
want  them  for  clothing. 

Fred. — It  is  right  to  kill  an  animal  that  has 
hiu't  some  one. 

Teacher. — Why  should  an  animal  that  has  hurt 
some  one,  a  dog  that  has  bitten  some  one,  for  in- 
stance, be  killed? 

Harry. — So   that   it   cannot   hurt   any   one   else. 

Teacher. — Is  it  right  to  kill  animals  for  any  other 
purpose  or  reason  than  those  you  have  named? 

Jennie. — I  suppose  it  is  right  to  kill  mice. 

Teacher. — W^hy  is  it  right? 

Jennie. — Because  they  do  so  much  mischief. 


6G  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

Teacher. — Yes;  and  there  are  many  other  animals 
that  it  is  right  to  kill,  because  they  do  much  harm. 

Fannie. — I  know  it  is  right  to  kill  mosquitoes. 

Teacher, — ^^Do  you  think  it  is  ever  right  to  kill 
animals  just  for  fun? 

Fred. — No;  it  isn't  right. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  it  is  ever  right  to  injure 
an  animal  just  for  fun? 

Harry. — No,  it  is  very  ^^l'ong. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  let  animals 
fight  and  hurt  each  other,  just  for  the  fun  of 
seeing  them? 

John. — I  think  it  is  very  cruel. 

Teacher. — Is  it  right  to  compel  animals  to  work 
harder  than  they  are  able? 

John. — Xo,  it  is  wrong.    It  is  against  the  law,  too. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  kill  the  birds 
to  use  them  for  trimming  hats? 

Fannie. — I  don't  loiow,  but  I  should  think  that 
\\as  using  them  for  clothing. 

Teacher. — Are  we  any  more  comfortable  w^hen  our 
hats  are  trimmed  with  birds  than  when  they  ai'e 
trimmed  with  something  else? 

Fannie. — No,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — I  have  read  that  the  feathers  are 
stripped  from  the  live  bu'ds,  because  the  feathers 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  67 

are  brighter  and  more  beautiful  tlian  when  the 
bird  is  killed  first.  Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  make 
t lie  little  creatures  suffer  like  that,  just  to  make 

...-'l.ats  look  pretty? 

Fannie. — I  think  it  is  cruel. 

Teiicher. — I  tliiuk  so,  too,  and  the  birds  are  such 
happy,  beautiful  little  creatures,  that  it  seems 
doubh'  cruel  to  uuike  them  suffer  and  die  just  for 
the  sake  of  making  our  hats  look  pretty. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  be  kind  to  animals.  If  I  haye  pets  I 
should  be  kind  to  them  and  take  good  care  of 
them.  I  should  neyer  injure  nor  kill  an  animal 
when  it  is  not  necessar}. 


LESSON  XIY. 

ONE  SATURDAY. 
PART    I. 

I  hayen't  a  very  pleasant  story  to  tell  you,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  It  is  all  about  a  long,  beautiful 
afternoon  that  I  spoiled  by  my  unkindness  to  my 
little  sister.  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  those  bright 
hours  that  I  darkened  by  an  unkind  act. 


G8 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 


It  was  Satui'day  afternoon.  My  sister  and  I  had 
helped  at  the  housework  all  the  forenoon.  We 
had  washed  dishes,  swept  and  dusted  the  sitting- 
loom,  made  beds,  picked  and  slielled  peas  for  di:i- 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  69 

ner,*set  the  table,  aud  done  a  Inindred  aud  one 
tilings  that  busy  childien  find  to  do  in  a  large  fam- 
iljv^&st,  and  not  least,  we  had  taken  care  of  baby 
l^nH||H||p^est,  cutest  little  fellow  you  ever  saw. 

I  was  mpiug  the  dinner  dishes  which  my  mother 
was  washing,  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

I  ran  to  open  it,  and  found  my  friend  and 
schoolmate,  Jessie  Piatt,  standing  there,  with  a 
nicely  starched  white  sunbonnet  on  her  brown  head, 
and  a  paper  parcel  in  her  hand.  She  came  in  and 
told  me  that  she  had  come  to  spend  the  afternoon 
with  my  sister  Kate  and  me,  and  had  brought  hei' 
knitting  work. 

My  mother  told  me  that  I  might  go  and  invite 
Mary  Davis,  a  little  neighbor,  to  spend  the  afternoon 
with  us.  She  came  back  with  me,  and  we  started 
for  the  barn;  for  that  was  the  nicest  place  in  the 
world  for  a  frolic  and  a  \isit,  it  was  so  cool  and 
pleasant  thei'e.  We  carried  our  knitting  work  to 
keep  company  with  Jessie.  She  always  took  hers 
when  she  went  to  ^dsit  her  little  friends  and  must 
always  knit  her  "stent,"  which  was  forty  times 
around. 

We  were  going  merrily  along,  our  arms  arouud 
each  other,  playing  "Hip3'ty  hop  to  the  barber 
shop,"  when  I  looked  around  and  saw  my  sister  Alice 


70  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

ruuniiig  and  hopping  along  after  us.    I  was  filled 
with,  dismay.    Alice  was  only  five,  and  we  were  ten. 

''Alice,"  I  said,  ''run  back  to  the  house  and  play 
with  the  baby." 

"Oh,  but  I  want  to  go  with  you!"  she  said.  I 
can  see  her  now  with  her  little  pink  sunbonnet 
swinging  in  her  hand,  and  the  sunsliiue  in  her  golden 
hair.  It  was  a  ver}^  sober  but  resolute  face  that 
she  turned  to  nie. 

"Go  back,"  I  said  harshly. 

"No,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  am  going  with  you." 
Then  all  my  hateful,  miserable  temi)er  flamed  up, 
and  I  turned  and  struck  her.  It  must  have  been  a 
hard  blow,  for  my  fingers  tingled.  She  turned  back 
without  a  word. 

Sister  Kate  and  Mary  Davis  said:  "You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  in  one  breath;  and  Jessie 
said,  "I  would  never  strike  my  sister  Nellie,  I  love 
to  have  her  play  with  me." 

How  mean  and  unhappy  I  felt;  but  I  braved  it  out, 
ran  on  with  the  girls,  and  tried  to  act  as  gay  and 
merry  as  the^^  did;  but  the  sunlight  liad  suddenly 
gone  out  of  the  world,  and  I  felt  cold  and  very, 
very  miserable. 

After  we  reached  the  barn,  we  swung  each  other 
awhile;  then  we  hunted  the  eggs;  then  we  climbed 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  7l 

the  ladder  to  the  loft  aud  jiiiiiped  oft'  into  the  hay  in 
the  bay. 

What  a  happy  time  it  might  have  been,  but  for 
my  uukindness  to  my  little  sister.  Every  little 
while  I  would  stoj)  in  my  play  to  look  at  my  hand. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  it  ached  from  the  blow  I  had 
given  her.  It  seemed  as  though  I  should  find  a  red 
mark  on  it,  but  there  wasn't  any,  and  I  suppose 
there  was  no  pain  in  my  hand.  It  was  my  conscience 
that  made  me  think  so. 


PART   II. 

After  awhile  we  grew  tired  of  play,  and  sat  down 
on  the  hay  in  the  loft  by  a  great  open  door,  through 
which  was  pitched  the  hay  that  was  brought  from 
the  fertile  meadow. 

We  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  long  enough  for 
Jessie  to  finish  her  "stent."  We  "ran  races"  with 
our  knitting  work,  measuring  our  yarn  and  tying 
a  knot  in  it  to  see  which  would  knit  to  the  knot 
first.  Jessie  always  came  out  ahead.  I  was  a  slow 
knitter,  and  every  little  while,  when  the  girls  could 
not  see  me,  I  looked  at  my  hand  and  thought  it  all 
over,  so  I  did  not  get  along  as  fast  as  usual. 

We  told  stories,  too,  I  remember.    Jessie  told 


72  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

about  "Jack  and  tlie  bean-stalk."  We  drew  closer 
together  as  she  repeated  in  low  tones,  "Fe,  fl,  fo, 
fum,  I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Englishman."  All  the 
while  she  was  knitting  away  as  fast  as  ever. 

I  told  about  "Little  Eed  Riding  Hood,"  and  in 
the  most  thrilling  i)art  of  my  story  I  faltered  and 
nearly  spoiled  it.  I  do  not  remember  the  other 
stories. 

At  six  o'clock  mother  called  us  to  tea.  We  rolled 
uj)  our  work  and  ran  into  the  house.  Mother  had 
a  nice  tea  for  us — biscuit  and  butter  and  honey.  I 
was  very  fond  of  biscuit  and  butter  and  honey,  but 
I  did  not  once  think  of  them.  I  looked  for  Alice 
the  first  thing.  She  was  already  at  the  table  in 
her  high  chair,  looking  very  happy.  Her  eyes  were 
shining  like  stars. 

She  had  had  a  beautiful  time.  A  gentleman, 
whom  we  all  knew  and  loved  very  much,  had  found 
lier  by  the  gate,  with  little  Fritz,  looking  verj'^  sober. 
He  had  taken  them  into  his  carriage  and  given 
them  a  long,  lovely  ride,  where  she  had  seen  some 
great  farm  houses,  a  ri^'er,  and  some  very  high 
hills. 

After  the  girls  had  gone,  Kate  and  I  made  a  chair 
with  our  arms  and  carried  her  all  around  the  yard. 
I  did  ever3i;hing  I  could  to  amuse  her,  but  I  did 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  73 

not  ouce  dare  to  nay,  "I  am  sorry — forgive  me."  If 
I  liad  I  should  probably  bave  forgotten  this  story 
long  ago. 

Alice  went  to  bed  very  bappj:  that  night,  although 
she  looked  at  me  many  times,  I  fancied,  A\ith  wish- 
ful eyes.  The  pleasant  ending  to  an  afternoon  that 
had  begun  so  sorrowfully  brought  her  sweet  aud 
refreshing  sleep  very  soon. 

But  I — all  tlu'ough  the  night  when  I  awakened 
I  was  troubled;  all  through  my  life,  when  the  mem- 
ory of  that  time  has  come  back  to  me,  I  have  wished 
that  I  could  take  back  that  cruel  blow. 

J.  M.  BALLOU. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  always  try  to  treat  others  kindly. 

I  should  be  specially  kind  to  all  the  members  of 
my  own  famil}''. 

I  should  be  very  kind  to  my  friends. 

I  should  be  grateful  to  those  who  have  been  kind 
to  me,  and  should  show  my  gTatitude  by  doing 
kind  things  to  them. 

I  should  be  kind  to  all  with  whom  I  have  any- 
thing to  do,  even  if  they  are  not  such  children  as 
I  would  choose  for  companions. 


74  LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

I  slioiikl  be  kind  to  the  unfortunate,  to  tlie  igno- 
rant, and  to  those  who  are  weaker  than  I  am. 

I  shoukl  treat  even  the  wicked  kindly. 

I  should  be  kind  to  animals. 

If  I  have  pets  I  should  be  kind  to  them  and  take 
good  care  of  them. 

MOTTO : 

Like  Slimmer  sunshine  on  a  wintiy  day 
Is  a  kind  -word  spoken  or  a  kind  deed  done 
To  one  whose  heart  is  sad. 


BLACKBOARD    EXERCISES. 

I  SHOULD  ALWAYS  TRY  TO  TRE.VT  OTHERS  KINDLY. 

MEMBERS  OF  MV  OWN  FAMILY. 

FRIENDS. 

THOSE  WHO  HAVE  BEEN  KIND  TO  ME. 

ALL  WITH  WHOM  I  HAVE  ANYl^HING  TO  DO. 

THE  UNFORTUNATE,  THE  IGNORANT  AND  THE  WEAK. 

THE  WICKED. 

ANIMALS. 

PETS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
LESSON  XV. 

WHY  CHILDREN  SHOULD   BE  TRUTHFUL. 

Teacher. — Xot  very  far  back  of  the  old  parsonage, 
that  was  ni}"  home  diiriug  a  rood  part  of  niv  chihl- 
hood,  was  a  beautiful  little  lake.  As  it  was  fed  by 
man}^  springs,  which  bubbled  up  from  the  rocks, 
the  water  was  cool  and  clear.  This  lake  w^as  the  de- 
light of  all  the  village  boj's.  There  were  few  hours 
of  the  day  or  evening,  outside  of  school  time,  when 
a  meiTy  troop  of  boys  was  not  to  be  found  playing 
at  the  lake,  swimming  in  summer,  or  skating  in 
winter. 

One  summer  the  boys  took  special  delight  in 
.f lightening  each  other,  hj  shouting,  "I'm  drowning; 
oh,  save  me!"  or  by  just  screaming  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  their  friends  think  tliej^  were  in  danger. 

For  a  time  this  was  a  great  success,  and  a  boy 
could  bring  a  crowd  about  him,  very  quickly,  each 

77 


7S  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

one  tniiig  to  save  tlie  supposed  drowning  boj.  Then, 
with  a  slioiit  of  laughter,  he  woukl  swim  awa.v, 
leaving  his  friends  to  get  over  their  fright  as  best 
they  conhl.  ]>ut  after  a  fyw  trials  of  this  joke  it 
grew  to  he  an  old  story,  and  the  jokers  did  not  get 
the  laugh  on  tlieu'  side  as  before. 

One  evening,  this  same  habit  came  near  costing 
one  little  fellow  his  life.  He  had,  several  times,  en- 
joyed the  fun  of  calling  his  friends  to  his  rescue, 
but  now  he  was  taken  with  cramps,  and  called  for 
help  in  earnest. 

^'You  don't  fool  us  again,"  answered  one  boy. 

"You've  tried  that  too  many  times,"  shouted  an- 
other. 

"We're  not  so  green  as  we  were,"  called  a 
third.  The  bo^^  was  filled  A^ith  a  horrible  fear  that 
he  would  drown  in  the  very  midst  of  his  many 
friends,  who  could  save  him  if  he  could  only  make 
them  understand.      He  called  again,  but  feebly. 

Then  it  was  that  a  boy,  standing  on  the  bank,  saw 
that  his  friend  was  really  drowning.  A  great  rush 
was  made  for  him,  and  he  was  taken  from  the  water 
only  just  in  time. 

Why  didn't  the  boys  tiy  to  save  their  friend  when 
he  fii'st  called  for  help? 

Lucy. — Because  they  didn't  believe  him. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  70 

Teacher. — Why  didn't  they  believe  him?  lie  was 
telling  the  truth. 

Frank.— Because  he  had  fooled  them  before. 

Teacher. — What  was  the  result  of  his  not  being 
believed,  this  time,  when  he  told  the  truth? 

Minnie. — He  was  almost  drowned. 

Teacher. — How  many  of  you  have  read  the  story 
of  the  boy  who  called,  "Wolf!  wolf!"  when  theiv 
was  no  wolf.    (All  the  bauds  came  up.) 

Teacher. — What  happened  to  that  boy  when  the 
wolf  did  come? 

John. — He  Avas  killed. 

Teacher. — Is  it  always  dangerous  not  to  be  be- 
lieved, when  you  speak  the  truth? 

Nellie. — No,  it  is  not  always  dangerous. 

Teacher. — Do  3'ou  think  it  always  unpleasant? 

Harry. — I  think  it  is.  I  know  I  like  to  have  people 
believe  me  when  I  say  anything. 

Teacher. — Now,  you  may  tell  me  one  reason  why 
you  should  always  speak  the  truth. 

Jennie. — Because,  if  we  tell  what  is  not  true,  we 
shall  not  be  believed,  even  when  we  speak  the  tinith. 

SUMMAKY. 

I  should  always  tr^^  to  be  perfectly'  truthful. 
If  I  am  not  truthful,  I  shall  not  be  believed  even 
when  I  speak  the  truth. 


80  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

LESSON  XVI. 

EVIL  RESULTS  OP   LYING. 

Victor  told  his  teaclier  oue  day  that  his  head 
ached,  and  his  throat  was  sore,  and  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  go  home.  He  received  permission  to  do  so. 

After  he  got  outside,  he  ran  oif  in  high  glee,  quite 
delighted  because  he  had  been  so  successful  in  de- 
ceiving his  teacher,  and  getting  out  of  school. 

But  he  did  not  find  it  so  pleasant,  after  all.  He 
was  afraid  to  go  home,  and  none  of  his  friends  were 
in  the  street  to  play  with  him.  So  he  tried  to  steal 
a  ride  on  a  cart,  but  fell  off,  and  had  his  leg  broken. 
If  he  had  not  told  a  lie  he  would  have  saved  himself 
weeks  of  suffering. 

Julia  copied  her  lessons,  day  after  day,  for  sev- 
eral months.  Finally,  she  was  found  out,  and  as  she 
did  not  know  what  she  had  passed  over,  she, had  to 
be  put  back.  If  she  had  not  made  her  ilate-lie  for 
her,  she  would  have  been  obliged  to  learn  her  lessons 
each  day,  and  would  not  only  have  been  saved  much 
mortification,  but  she  would  have  had  much  more 
knowledge.  If  she  had  not  been  found  out,  it  would 
have  been  much  worse,  for  she  might  never  have 
learned  many  things  that  she  needed  to  know. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  81 

Now,  you  may  tell  me  another  reason  whj"  3^on 
should  speak  the  truth. 

Grace. — We  should  speak  the  truth,  because 
children  who  tell  lies  are  always  getting  themselves 
into  trouble. 

Teacher. — James  was  angry  Avith  Charlie;  so, 
when  Harry  lost  his  pencil-box,  Japies  said  that 
Charlie  had  stolen  it.  As  Charlie  had  one  like  it, 
the  stor^'  was  believed.  He  proved  the  pencil-box 
to  be  his  o^ti,  but  not  till  he  had  had  a  great  deal 
of  trouble,  and  been  verj^  unhappy  about  it.  What 
do  you  think  of  what  James  did? 

John. — It  was  mean. 

Harry. — It  was  very  wicked. 

Teacher. — Is  a  lie  always  mcked? 

Nellie. — I  think  it  is. 

Teacher. — ^You  are  right;  it  is  mean,  and  cowardly 
and  wicked  to  lie.  You  have  told  me  several  reasons 
why  you  should  speak  the  truth.  If  you  tell  lies, 
you  will  not  be  believed  when  3'ou  speak  the  truth ; 
you  are  in  danger  of  getting  into  trouble,  and  of 
getting  others  into  trouble. 

But  one  of  the  very  strongest  reasons  why  you 
should  never  tell  lies,  is  the  effect  that  lying  will 
have  upon  the  one  who  does  it.  If  you  should  let 
yourself  get  into  the  habit  of  lying,  after  awhile 


82  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING, 

you  would  hardly  know  how  to  tell  the  truth,  you 
would  not  know  the  truth,  and  your  moral  nature 
would  grow  to  be  weak  and  bad. 

Another  reason  is  this:  God  is  a  God  of  truth, 
and  He  loves  those  who  speak  the  truth. 

SUMMARY. 

If  I  tell  lies  I  shall  be  in  danger  of  making  myself 
and  others  much  trouble. 

If  I  get  into  the  habit  of  lying  my  moral  nature 
will  grow  to  be  weak  and  bad. 


LESSON  XVII. 

SINCERITY. 

Teacher — Harold,  Hector  and  Herbert  went  to  the 
river  to  sail  their  boats. 

"Let  us  have  a  swim,"  cried  Herbert. 

"All  right!"  cried  the  others,  and  in  five  minutes 
they  were  in  the  a\  ater.  The  water  was  cold  and 
they  did  not  stay  long. 

While  the}^  were  dressing.  Hector  said,  very  so- 
berly, "I  did  not  think  about  it,  but  father  told  me 
yesterday  not  to  go  into  the  water  for  a  couple  of 
weeks.    What  do  you  suppose  he  wiU  say?" 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOINC.  83 

"You  are  iu  a  fix,"  said  Herbert.  ''I  liaveu't  been 
told  not  to  go  in,  but  I  know  we  ought  not  to  have 
done  it,  for  the  water  is  too  cold." 

Plarold  said  nothing,  but  he  felt  troubled,  for  lie 
remembered  having  overheard  his  mother  say,  "'Oh, 
I  never  ^^•orr3•  abo^it  Harold,  for  1  know  he  would 
not  thiidv  of  goiifg  into  the  river,  without  permis- 
sion." 

AVith  sober  faces  the  three  lads  walked  slowly 
home. 

Hector  met  his  father  at  the  door. 

"HaAe  you  been  in  the  river?"  asked  his  father. 
"I  saw  some  boys  swimming,  and  was  afraid  you 
were  one  of  them." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Hector,  "I  have  been  sailing  my 
boat." 

"That's  right,  mj  hoy,"  said  his  father.  "I  am 
glad  you  did  not  disobey  me." 

He  would  not  have  been  so  pleased  if  he  had 
kno^Ti  the  truth. 

Herbert  ran  to  his  mother  and  cried,  before  she 
had  a  chance  to  ask  a  question,  "  Oh,  maninm,  Hector 
and  I  have  been  down  to  the  river  sailing  our  boats, 
and  I  wet  my  head  too.  AVe  had  lots  of  fun."  Just 
as  Herbert  intended,  his  mother  supposed  he  had 
told  her  the  whole  truth. 


84  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

It  is  not  at  all  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  what 
these  boys'  parents  said  to  them  when  they  found 
out  the  truth,  as  they  did,  but  you  may  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  what  the  boys  did.  What  did  Hector 
do  when  he  told  his  father  that  he  had  not  been  in 
the  river? 

Charlie. — He  told  a  lie. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  that  Herbert  told  a  lie, 
when  he  told  his  mother  that  he  had  sailed  his  boat 
and  dii3i3ed  his  head  into  the  water? 

Grace. — I  don't  know.    What  he  said  was  true. 

Harry. — I  don't  think  it  was  a  lie. 

Frank. — I  think  it  was  a  lie. 

Teacher. — Why?  He  had  sailed  his  boat,  and 
dipped  his  head  into  the  water. 

Frank.— He  didn't  tell  all. 

Nellie. — He  meant  to  make  his  mother  believe  that 
he  hadn't  been  in  the  river. 

Teacher. — Then  he  meant  to  make  her  believe  what 
was  not  true.    Is  that  Ijing? 

Tommy. — I  think  it  is. 

Teacher. — Yes.  Herbert  told  a  lie  just  as  much 
as  Hector  did.  Even  if  the  words  you  speak  are 
true,  you  are  lying  if  you  say  them  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  some  one  believe  what  is  not  true. 

When  Harold  reached  home  he  went  straight  to 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  85 

his  mother  and  told  her  what  he  had  done.  He  toUl 
her,  too,  how  sorry  he  was  that  he  had  not  been  so 
trustworthy  as  she  tliou«j;ht  him.  \A'hich  of  the 
three  bojs  acted  in  the  right  way? 

Fred. — Harold 

Teacher. — Yes,  he  did  right.  Was  it  easy  for  him 
to  do  as  he  did? 

John. — I  don't  think  it  was. 

Teacher. — It  was  very  hard,  for  he  thought  his 
mother  would  not  trust  him  as  she  had  before,  if 
she  knew  what  he  had  done.  But  he  knew  that  he 
ought  to  tell  her  about  it,  so  he  did.  Which  boy  Avas 
bravest? 

Hany. — Harold  was.    The  others  were  cowardly. 

Teacher. — To-day  I  aked  all  the  children  who  had 
an  answer  readj^  to  a  question,  to  raise  hands.  A 
great  many  hands  came  up.  When  I  questioned  one 
little  girl,  I  found  that  she  didn't  even  know  what 
the  question  w^as.  What  did  she  do  when  she  raised 
her  hand. 

Clara. — She  told  what  was  not  true. 

Teacher. — How  did  she  tell  a  lie?  She  did  not  say 
anji^hing. 

Clara. — She  told  it  by  raising  her  hand. 

Teacher. — It  was  just  as  much  a  lie  as  if  she  had 
told  it  in  words.    It  was  an  acted  lie. 


86  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  never  speak  words  that  are  true  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  others  believe  what  is  not  true. 
I  should  never  act  a  lie. 


LESSON  xvin. 

EXAGGERATION  AND  TELLING  AS    TRUTH    WHAT    WE  DO  NOT 
KNOW  TO  BE  TRUE. 

Clara  said  she  was  "almost  dead"  when  she  was 
really  someAvhat  tired.  Afterward,  when  she  wanted 
to  take  a  walk  with  a  friend,  she  said  she  was  not 
one  bit  tired.    Did  she  tell  the  truth  either  time? 

John. — No,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — At  first  she  made  her  story  too  large, 
or  exaggerated  the  truth;  then  she  made  her  story 
too  small,  or  diminished  the  truth.    • 

One  morning  a  bo^^  went  to  his  teacher  and  said: 
"Walter  Clark,  is  playing  hookey  to-day."  Walter 
was  in  his  seat  at  the  time,  so  his  teacher  knew  that 
the  boy  was  wrong,  but  she  wished  to  know  why 
he  had  said  it,  so  asked  him  why  he  thought  so. 

He  answered,  "I  saw  him  going  toward  the  bay." 

"Does  every  boy  who  goes  toward  the  bay  play 
truant?"  asked  his  teacher. 

"No,"  answered  the  boy,  "not  every  boy,  but  AVal- 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  87 

ter  was  goiug  crabbing,  for  he  had  his  crabbing  net 
with  hiin." 

"Well,"  said  his  teacher,  "that  did  look  a  little  like 
it,  but  do  3"ou  know  that  he  is  playing  truant  because 
he  was  going  toward  the  ba} ,  and  had  his  crabbing- 
net  with  him?" 

"No,"  acknowledged  the  boy,  "I  don't  know  it, 
but  I  think  so."  When  his  teacher  told  him  to  look 
around  the  room,  he  saw  Walter  in  his  seat. 

Was  it  right  for.  the  boy  to  say  that  Walter  was 
pla^dng  truant? 

Harry. — No,  it  wasn't  right. 

Teacher. — Was  it  a  falsehood?  He  thought  it  was 
true. 

Frank. — I  don't  know,  but  he  hadn't  any  right  to 
say  it. 

Teacher, — I  think  it  was  a  falsehood.  He  could 
truthfull}^  have  said  that  he  thought  it  was  so,  but 
he  couldu't  truthfulh^  say  that  it  was  so.  Even  if 
it  had  been  true,  he  had  no  right  to  tell  it  as  truth 
if  he  didn't  know. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  try  not  to  exaggerate  nor  diminish  the 
truth. 

I  should  never  tell  as  truth  what  I  do  not  know  to 
be  true. 


i>8  LESSONS   IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

LESSON   XIX. 

PRINCE  FREDERICK. 
PART  I. 

"Fred,  Fred,  get  up,  or  you  will  be  late  to  break- 
fast! "  called  Fred's  father,  from  the  foot  of  she  stairs. 

"Yes,  sii',"  answered  Fred,  cheerfully,  "I  will, 
right  away." 

It  was  very  easy  for  Fred  to  say  that,  for  he  had 
not  the  least  intention  of  doing  what  he  said  he 
woidd.  He  just  turned  over  and  took  another  nap. 
Then,  when  the  breakfast  bell  rang,  fifteen  niinutes 
later,  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  rushed  into  his  cloihes, 
dipped  the  ends  of  his  fingers  into  the  pitcher  of 
water,  instead  of  using  the  bowl,  rubbed  them  across 
his  mouth  a  little,  caught  uj)  the  towel  and  di^ew 
it  across  his  face,  and  tossed  it  into  the  corner  of 
the  room  all  in  a  bunch.  Then  he  went  do^Ti-stairs 
three  steps  at  a  time,  and  managed  to  be  in  his  seat 
only  a  few  minutes  behind  the  others. 

"Did  3^ou  get  up  when  I  called  joii,  Fred?"  asked 
his  father. 

"Yes,  father,  just  a  little  bit  after,"  said  Fred. 

Fred's  mother  was  busy  pouring  coffee  and  attend- 
ing to  his  little  brother,  and  did  not  notice  him  for 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOIN(i.  89 

some  time,  except  to  say  the  usual,  "Good  morning." 
Wlien  she  found  time  to  look  at  him,  she  said 

gravely,  "I  am  afraid  Prince  Frederick  forgot  to 

wash  his  face  this  morning.'' 
"Oh,  no,  mamma,"  said  Fred,  "I  didn't  forget  it." 
His  mother  said  nothing  more,  but  thought  he 

did  not  look  as  fresh  and  bright  as  he  ought. 
They  had  fish  for  breakfast,  which  reminded  Fred 

of  his  fishing  excursion  of  the  day  before,  and  he 

said,  eagerly — 
"Oh,  papa,  I  went  up  the  river  yesterday  and  I 

caught  some  sjjlendid  fish.    They  were  whoppers. 

Once  I  felt  a  bite,  and  I  pulled  a  fellow  in  that  was 

so  big  I  could  hardly  manage  him." 
"Are  those  the  ones  I  saw  in  the  yard?"  asked 

his  father  ^ith  a  queer  little  smile. 
Fred  blushed  a  little,  and  said,  faintly — 
"Yes,  sir;  but  I  lost  the  biggest  one  overbt>ard." 
"Oh,  you  did!"  said  his  father,  with  the  same 

queer  smile. 
Fi'ed  felt  a  little  uncomfortable.    He  asked  to  be 

excused  and  went  into  the  yard. 
"I  fear  Fred  is  getting  into  the  habit  of  being 

not  quite  truthful,"  said  his  father. 
"Oh,  no,  I  think  not,"  returned  his  mother.    "I 

don't  think  he  ever  means  to  tell  what  is  not  true. 


90  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

I  am  sure  he  is  truthful  at  heart.  He  is  too  brave 
and  mauly  a  boy  to  have  that  fault." 

Frederick  Prince,  or  "Prince  Frederick,"  as  his 
friends  liad  been  fond  of  calling  him  ever  since 
he  had  been  a  little  fellow  in  dresses,  was,  as  his 
mother  thought,  a  manly  boy.  But,  though  his 
mother  did  not  see  it,  he  had  gotten  into  the  habit 
of  stretching  the  truth  till  it  quite  snapped  in  two, 
or  of  so  squeezing  it  up  that  it  could  scarcel}^  be 
seen,  or  of  twisting  or  turning  it  till  no  one  would 
have  known  it.  He  might  just  as  well  have  had 
the  habit  of  Ijing  outright. 

This  morning,  as  I  said,  he  did  feel  a  little  uncom- 
fortable. He  didn't  like  the  smile  on  his  father's 
face.  AVhen  he  examined  the  fish  in  the  jard  they 
seemed  a  great  deal  smaller  than  he  had  thought 
they  were.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  bs  more  careful 
about  telling  "big  stories."    He  didn't  call  them  lies. 

Just  then  his  cousin  Linn  called  to  him:  "Going 
to  school,  Fred?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Fred,  "wait  till  I  get  my  books." 

Pretty  soon  the  cousins  were  on  their  way  to 
school. 

"There,"  exclaimed  Linn,  suddenly,  "I've  left 
my  pencil  at  home.  I  must  go  back  for  it  or  I'll 
get  a  mark," 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  91 

"You  will  be  late  if  you  do,"  said  Fred,  "and  that 
will  be  worse  tlum  i;(»iug  without  your  pencil." 

Fred  kuew  very  well  that  there  was  plenty  of 
time,  but  he  wanted  his  cousin's  compan^^,  and  did 
not  care  to  go  back  with  him. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Linn,"  there's  lots  of  time,  and 
you  know  it,  too.    I'm  going  back." 

Fred  was  a  good  scholar,  for  he  learned  easily  and 
was  fond  of  study,  so  he  was  seldom  tempted  to  be 
dishonest  about  his  lessons.  But  that  day  was  Fii- 
day  and  review  day.  The  spelling  lesson  was  long 
and  hard.  There  was  one  word  that  he  was  not 
quite  sure  that  he  knew.  He  had  not  missed  one 
word  during  the  term,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  could 
not  break  his  record  now. 

With  one  eye  pn  his  teacher,  he  leaned  over  and 
looked  at  the  slate  oi  the  boy  in  front  of  him,  then 
corrected  the  word  on  his  own  sfete.  He  did  not 
enjoy  the  i)erfect  mark  that  he  received  verj  much. 
He  began  to  feel,  not  only  uncomfortable,  but  very 
mean. 

PART   II. 

Still  it  was  not  long  before  Fred  was  tempted  to 
tell  an  untruth,  and  again  he  yielded  to  the  tempta- 
tion. 


92  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

"Are  you  going  fisliing  to-morrow,  Jack?"  lie 
whispered  to  the  frieiid  wlio  sat  next  to  him. 

Jack  shook  his  head  but  said  nothing. 

The  teacher  saw  the  sliake  of  the  head,  and  knew 
that  it  Avas  the  answer  to  a  question,  so  she  ^ooked 
at  Fred  inquiringly. 

"I  only  asked  Jack  where  the  grammar  lesson 
for  Monday  is  to  be,"  said  Fred. 

A  bad  boy,  sitting  near,  laughed  a  disagree- 
able laugh,  and  Fred  felt  as  if  he  were  getting 
rather  nearer  to  the  bo^-'s  level  than  he  cared 
to  be. 

School  closed  at  last,  and  the  boys  rushed  away, 
eager  for  the  afternoon's  sport. 

The  boy  who  had  laughed  at  Fred's  lie  called  out 
to  him  as  he  passed:  "Are  you  going  fishing  to-mor- 
row?   I  know  a  splendid  place." 

"No,"  answered  Fred,  crossly.  As  he  fidly  in- 
tended to  go,  he  added  under  his  breath,  "At  least, 
not  with  you." 

-When  Fred  got  home,  he  went  into  the  dining- 
room.  In  a  fruit  dish  on  the  sideboard  were  a 
number  of  beautiful  peaches.  Without  thinking 
of  doing  any  harm,  he  took  one  of  them,  and  went 
to  the  vard  and  ate  it. 

"Fred,"  called  his  mother,  "did  you  take  one  of 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  93 

the  peaches  from  the  sideboard?  Aunt  Mai-y  sent 
them  over,  and  there  were  just  enough  for  dinner, 
besides  one,  that  I  liad  saved  to  send  to  little  Annie. 
They  were  from  Aunt  Mary's  garden,  and  these 
are  the  first  the  tree  has  borne.  She  had  jnst 
enongh  for  one  apiece  all  around." 

Fred  could  easil}^  enough  have  told  the  truth.  I(, 
would  have  been  all  right  if  he  had  said  that  he 
had  eaten  one,  and  would  go  without  at  dinner. 
But  hing  was  getting  to  be  a  habit  mtli  him,  and 
almost  before  he  thought,  he  said:  "No,  Mamma,  I 
haven't  touched  them." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  told  an  out-and-out 
lie  to  his  mother,  and  if  she  had  looked  in  his  face 
she  would  have  knoTVTi  the  truth;  but  she  trusted 
him  and  said  gravely:  "I  am  afraid  the  grocer's  boy 
took  it,  and  I  am  sorry  to  think  so,  he  is  such  an 
honest  looking  little  fellow.  I  can't  send  one  to 
Annie  now." 

Fred  wished  he  could  take  it  back.  He  didn't 
care  for  the  peach,  and  he  didn't  like  to  think  of  the 
grocer's  boy  being  blamed  for  his  fault. 

When  the  peaches  were  passed  at  dinner  he 
wished  he  could  refuse  his  and  ask  his  mother  to 
send  it  to  Annie ;  but  he  was  afraid  she  would  sus- 
pect him  if  he  did.    Again  he  left  the  table  as  soon 


94  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

as  possible.  He  didn't  feel  miieli  like  seeing  anyone, 
so  lie  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  Fred  woke  bright  and  early. 
It  was  Saturday,  and  he  was  eager  for  the  boat, 
the  river,  and  the  fishing.  He  was  ready  for  break- 
fast and  in  his  x^lace  in  good  time.  He  had  f  orgott-en, 
for  the  time,  the  man}'  disagreeable  things  of  the 
day  before,  and  was  bright  and  happy. 

Breakfast  was  soon  over,  and  the  two  boys,  with 
lunches  and  fishing  tackle,  started  off  in  high  glee. 

"If  yon  catch  a  whopper  to-day,  be  siu'e  to  bring 
it  home,"  called  Fred's  father,  as  they  were  pre- 
I)aring  to  get  into  the  boat. 

"What  did  Uncle  mean?"  asked  Linn,  curiously. 

"Oh,  not  much  of  anything,"  said  Fred. 

The  boys  rowed  up  the  river  till  they  reached  a 
lovely,  quiet  spot  with  deep  woods  on  either  side. 

The  hours  i^assed  s^viftly,  for  they  enjoyed  them- 
selves as  only  boys  can — fishing,  roaming  about  in 
the  woods,  chasing  squirrels,  and  swinging  on  the 
branches  of  trees. 

In  the  afternoon  Linn  remembered  that  he  had 
promised  to  do  an  errand  for  his  mother  before  he 
retiu'ned  home.  "I  must  go  uj)  to  Aunt  Mary's  with 
this  note,"  he  said,  "and  I  must  start  right  away,  so 
r.  J  to  be  back  in  time." 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  95 

"Oil  bother,  Linn,  don't  go,"  grumbled  Fred. 

"1  must,"  retui'ued  Linn,  '"I  promised  mamma." 

"Teli  lier  you  forgot  it,"  siiid  Fred. 

*^How  could  I?  I  liaven't  forgotten  it,"  returned 
Linn,  with  such  an  indignant  look,  that  Fred  felt 
his  face  gTow  hot  with  shame. 

"Well,  if  jou  must  go,  huiTv,  and  I'll  wait  for 
you,"  said  Fred. 

"All  right,"  shouted  Linn,  who  was  already  well 
on  his  way. 

Fred  gathered  leaves  and  with  them  made  a  very 
comfortable  lounging  place  in  his  boat;  then  with 
a  book  which  he  had  with  him  in  his  hand,  stretched 
himself  upon  it  and  settled  do^Ti  to  enjoy  himself 
till  his  cousin  should  return. 


PAET  III. 

Fred  had  not  been  reading  long,  when  he  was 
startled  by  a  sound  in  the  tree  above  him,  and  iook- 
ing  up  he  saw  a  strange  little  object  swinging 
down  from  the  branch  of  the  tree  into  his  boat.  The 
little  creature  was  so  small  that  it  looked  as  though 
it  would  almost  have  no  weight  at  all,  yet  it 
seemed  to  swing  down  as  easily  as  Fred  could     It 


96 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  97 

perclied  itself  on  the  bow  of  the  boat  aud  looked  at 
Fred.  Fred  was  so  astonished  that  he  could  not 
speak  for  aw^hile.  At  last  he  stammered  out :  "  Who 
are  you  and  what  do  yon  want? 

The  creature  took  off  its  hat,  made  a  low  bow, 
and  in  a  shrill  little  voice  piped  out,  "Don't  yon 
know' me?  I'm  the  Master  of  Ceremonies.  The  rest 
will  be  along  pretty  soon,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  know 
them." 

"Of  course  he'll  know  us,"  cried  another  little 
creature,  as  it  swung  itself  down  into  the  boat  and 
perched  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Master  of  Cere- 
monies. Of  coui'se  he'll  know  ns,  for  he  made  every 
one  of  ns." 

"Made  me  out  of  whole  cloth,  too,"  added  a  third, 
who  took  his  place  at  the  left  of  the  Master  of  Cere- 
monies. 

Fred  sat  up  straight  and  stared;  he  felt  queerer 
than  he  had  before. 

After  this,  two  birds  flew  into  the  boat,  one  from 
one  bank  and  one  from  the  other,  and  stationed 
themselves  on  the  edge  of  the  boat  next  to  the  lit- 
tle men. 

One  looked,  to  Fred,  to  be  snow  white  and  the 
other  a  light  gray. 

"He  thinks  I'm  white,"  chirped  the  first,  with  a 


98  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

little  laugh,  ''but  he'll  fiud  out  that  I'm  not  so  white 
before  he  gets  through  looking  at  me." 

"Yes,  and  he  thinks  I'm  light  gray,  but  I  may  look 
nearly  black  to  him  before  long,"  ehirj)ed  the  sec- 
ond bird. 

The  little  creatures  and  the  birds  kej)t  coming, 
each  making  some  remark  as  it  settled  itself  on 
the  edge  of  the  boat,  till  there  were  eight  beside 
the  Master  of  Cereuionies. 

Next  to  Fred,  and  a  good  deal  nearer  than  he 
liked,  were  two  very  large  and  very  black  birds 
that  leered  at  him  and  winked  at  each  other  in  a 
way  that  annoyed  him  very  much. 

Last  of  all,  with  a  great  splattering,  a  fish  leaped 
from  the  river  over  the  edge  of  the  boat  and  stood 
straight  up  in  a  most  astonishing  way,  right  in 
front  of  Fred.  It  was  a  very 'strange  kind  of  fish, 
he  thought,  for  sometimes  when  he  looked  at  it, 
it  seemed  ver^^  large,  like  a  giant  fish,  and  again 
it  seemed  no  larger  than  the  fish  he  had  caught  that 
day. 

When  they  had  settled  themselves  comfortably 
in  the  boat,  they  all  kept  perfectly  still  and  stared 
at  Fred,  till  he  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  and 
he  called  out:  "Who  are  you,  anyway,  and  what  do 
you  want?" 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  09 

At  tliat,  the  little  biixls  threw  back  tlieii'  little 
Jieads,  aud  opened  their  little  bills,  and  the  little 
men  threw  up  their  little  black  hats — for  they 
were  all  dressed  in  black  except  the  Master  of  Cere- 
monies— and  the}'  all  laughed  uxu'oariously. 

Then  one  of  the  little  men  gasj^ed  between  his 
shouts  of  laughter,  "And  he  doesn't  know  us,  after 
all." 

Another  added,  "After  making  every  one  of  us," 
and  the  birds  chii^ped  all  together,  "And  we've  just 
come  home  to  roost." 

At  that,  the  Master  of  Ceremonies — who  was 
dressed  in  a  splendid  suit  of  scarlet  velvet,  covered 
with  gold  spangles — raised  his  long  golden  wand, 
and  they  were  all  perfectl}^  silent  in  a  flash. 

"You  can  see!  you  can  see!"  cried  he.  "You 
thought  you  could  get  along  without  me,  but  you 
can't  even  begin.    Let  me  present  you." 

"Most  High  and  August  Prince  Frederick" he 

got  no  fui'ther,  for  everj^  one  of  tlie  funny  little 
men  and  the  strange  little  birds  interrupted  him 
by  shouting  at  the  tops  of  their  little  voices:  "Oh, 
no;  oh,  no;  none  of  that;  not  Prince  Frederick! 
Prince  Liar;  Prince  Liar,  if  you  please!" 

Fred  felt  his  face  flush,  but  he  dai'ed  not  say  any- 
thing. 


100  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Master,  "he  may  not  be  quilo 
so  well  pleased  with  the  name,  but  it  suits  him 
better." 

"Most  High  and  August  Prince  Liar,  allow  me  to 
present  to  you  your  loyal  subjects.  These  are  the 
lies  you  told  yesterda^^  Make  your  manners  now, 
make  your  manners,"  he  commanded,  turning  to 
the  funny  little  men  and  the  strange  little  birds. 
And  all  the  funny  little  men  raised  their  funny 
little  black  hats,  and,  together  with  the  strange 
little  bh'ds,  bowed  very  low  to  Fred  and  shouted, 
"Long  live  Prince  Liar!"  There  was  a  pause  after 
that,  and  all  stared  at  Fred  as  if  they  expected  him 
to  say  something.  But  Fred  couldn't  move  a  hand 
even,  he  was  so  frightened. 

Then  the  Master  of  Ceremonies  waved  his.  wand 
towards  one  of  the  white  bu'ds  and  said,  "Stand 
forth.  First  Lie,"  and  the  bird  hopped  doT\Ti  from 
the  edge  of  the  boat  and  stood  facing  Fred. 

"This  is  the  fli'st  lie  you  told  yesterday  morn- 
ing." 

"Yes,  yes,"  chirped  the  bird,  "my  name  is  'Yes- 
Su'-right-away ;'  you  knew  you  didn't  mean  it  when 
you  said  it." 

"Be  silent,"  commanded  the  Master,  "you  may 
retire."    The  bird  hopped  back  to  the  edge  of  the 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  101 


boat,  aud  Fred  noticed  that  its  white  plumage  be- 


gan to  look  tarnished. 

"Stand  forth,  Second  Lie,"  cried  the  Master,  with 
a  wave  of  his  wand,  and  the  gray  bird  hopped  down, 
facing  Fred. 

"The  name  of  this  lie  is,  'Yes-Father-just-a-little 
bit-after,' "  and  the  gray  bird  bowed  to  Fred,  and 
hopped  back  to  his  place,  looking  almost  black. 

"This  is,  'I-didn't-forget-to-wash-my-face,' "  said 
the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  as  one  of  the  funny  little 
men  stepped  down  before  Fred.  "Clean,  isn't  it?" 
cried  the  little  man,  as  he  turned  his  face  toward 
Fred. 

PART  IV. 

The  Master  of  Ceremonies  went  on  till  he  had 
presented  every  one  of  the  funny  little  men  and  the 
strange  little  birds.  Some  way,  as  the  ceremony 
of  presentation  went  on,  all  the  little  faces  grew 
very  sober,  the  clothes  grew  blacker,  and  the  bii'ds 
darker. 

When  the  lie  of  the  misspelled  word  was  presented 
not  one  word  was  spoken,  but  one  of  the  queer  lit- 
tle creatures  brought  out,  from  somewhere,  a  slate 
with  the  corrected  word  written  on  it,  and  held  it 
up  for  Fred  to  see. 


102  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

One  of  the  large  and  very  black  birds  f.hat  stood 
so  uncomfortably  close  to  Fred  was  the  lie  about 
the  question  he  had  asked  his  friend,  and  the  other 
was  the  lie  he  had  told  his  mother  about  the 
peach. 

When  all  the  others  had  been  presented,  the  Mas- 
ter of  Ceremonies  waved  his  wand  toward  the  fish 
that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  boat  and  said,  with 
a  flourish,  ''This  is  only  a  fish  story." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  the  fish  with  an  ugly  leer,  and 
in  a  loud  whisper,  "but  I'm  a  'whopper.'  I'm  the 
'w^hopper'  you  lost  overboard  yesterday,  ha!  ha!" 

Then  all  the  strange  creatures  stood  still  and 
stared  at  Fred  till  he  felt  almost  frantic.  He  wished 
he  could  get  away;  but  he  couldn't  move.  He  wished 
with  all  his  heart,  that  they  would  leave,  but  they 
didn't  move. 

Finalh,  with  a  terrible  effort,  he  cried:  "If 
you  will  only  go  awa}",  I'll  never  tell  another  lie 
in  my  life." 

The  w^ords  Avere  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when 
do^Ti  from  the  branoli  above  him  skiing  another 
little  man  who  gravely  remarked,  "I'm  the  lie  you 
just  told.  You  don't  mean  that.  You  only  want 
to  get  rid  of  your  company.  You  should  have 
thought  of  that  before  you  made  us." 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  103 

Then,  all  together,  they  shouted,  ''Long-  live  Prince 
Liar!  Long  live  Prince  Liar!  He  will  never  tell 
another  lie!  Oh  no;  he  will  never  tell  another  lie, 
ha!  ha!" 
-^  "But,"  cried  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  with  a 
splendid  flourish  of  his  golden  wand,  "we  might 
all—" 

"Wake  np!  wake  up!"  shouted  a  voice  in  Fred's 
ear;  and,  while  he  was  wondering  what  would  hap- 
pen next,  Linn  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and  cried, 
"Will  you  never  w^ake  up!" 

Fred  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes  and  said,  "Are 
they  really  all  gone?" 

"Are  who  gone?  What  are  you  talking  about?" 
cried  Linn. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Fred,  and  he  looked 
rather  foolish. 

The  boys  soon  started  for  home.    Fred  was  very 
-silent  and  rowed  very  fast,  but  he  thought  of  a 
great  many  things. 

The  next  day  he  had  a  long,  quiet,  Sunday  talk 
with  his  mother.  He  told  her  all  about  the  lies 
he  had  told  and  all  about  his  strange  visitors  in 
the  woods.  Grieved  as  slie  was  at  this  sad  story  of 
wrong  doing,  she  was  comforted  by  seeing  how  in 
earnest  he  was  in  his  wish  to  be  cured  of  his  fault. 


104:  LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

At  last  she  said  to  liim,  "If  you  really  mean  to 
change,  to  be  Prince  Frederick  and  not  Prince  Liar, 
mean  to  do  yoiu"  best  to  grow  up  to  be  a  truthful, 
honorable  man,  3'ou  can  do  it.  But  you  will  have 
to  fight  for  it  And  to  help  you  to  start  right,  there 
is  one  hard  thing  that  you  must  do  to-morrow.  You 
must  tell  3^011  r  teacher  about  the  spelling  lesson 
and  about  ^  hat  you  said  to  Jack." 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  Fred  in  dismay,  "I  can't  do 
that." 

"I  think  you  can,  and  will,  if  you  are  in  earnest," 
said  his  mother,  and  she  left  him  to  decide  for  him- 
self. 

The  next  day  Fred  did  tell  his  teacher  all  about 
it,  and  from  that  time  he  grew  to  be  more  and  more 
ti^uthful  till  ever}"  one  who  knew  him  came  to  have 
the  most  i)erfect  confidence  in  his  truth  and  honor. 

SUMMAEY. 

I  should  alwa^^s  try  to  be  perfectly  truthful. 

If  I  a  Lu  not  truthful,  I  shall  not  be  believed  even 
when  I  speak  the  truth. 

If  I  tell  lies  I  shall  be  in  danger  of  making  myself 
and  others  much  trouble. 

If  I  get  into  the  habit  of  lying,  my  moral  nature 
wall  gTow"  to  be  weak  and  bad. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  105 

I  should  never  speak  words  that  are  true  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  others  believe  what  is  not  true. 

I  should  never  act  a  lie. 

I  should  try  not  to  exaggerate  nor  diminish  the 
truth. 

I  should  never  tell  as  truth  what  I  do  not  know^  to 
be  true. 

MOTTO : 

Only  a  white  lie  !     Don't  tell  it,  don't  tell  it ; 
Be  it  even  the  whitest  of  white  lies. 

Only  a  white  lie  !     Repel  it,  repel  it : 
It  will  leave  a  black  stain  on  your  soul ;  your  eyes 
Will  lose  the  clear,  truthful  look  that  all  prize. 


BLACKBOARD    EXERCISES. 


I  SHOULD  ALWAYS  TRY  TO  BE  PERFECTLY  TRUTHFUL. 

IF  I  AJM  KOT  TRUTHFUL,  I  SHALL  NOT  BE  BELIEVED. 

I  SHALL  MAKE  MYSELF  AND  OTHERS  TROUBLE. 

MORAL  NATURE. 

WORDS  TRUE,  MEANING   UNTRUE. 

ACTED  LIES. 

EXAGGERATED  AND  DIMINISHED  TRUTH. 

KNOWING  TRUTH   BEFORE   STATING   IT. 


CHAPTER  V. 


PROIVr  ISKS. 


lesso:n  XX. 


MAKING  PROMISES.- 


Teaclier. — One  day,  wlien  I  was  a  little  girl  about 
ten  years  of  age,  I  took  a  great  basket  and  went  to 
a  field  not  far  from  my  home,  to  gather  elder-berries. 
They  grew  in  large  clusters  in  the  corners  of  the 
rail-fence. 

I  had  been  working  but  a  few  minutes,  when  I 
was  accosted  by  a  school-mate  who  had  come  to 
the  field  for  the  same  purpose.  She  was  several 
years  older  than  I  and  several  inches  taller. 

In  a  very  kind  tone  she  said,  "It  must  be  hard 
for  you  to  reach  the  highest  clusters.  I  can  reach 
them  easily  and  can  gather  faster  than  you  can. 

109 


110  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

If  you  will  he^p  me  fill  my  basket,  I  Avill  lielp  you 
fill  yours.  We  shall  have  time  to  fiJl  both  before 
it  begins  to  grow  dark." 

I  readily  consented  and  worked  with  a  will,  so 
as  to  be  sure  to  do  my  fair  share. 

When  we  had  filled  her  basket  she  said,  "I  am 
going  home  now,"  and  left  me  without  another 
word.  It  was  too  late  for  me  to  fill  my  basket  alone, 
and  I  went  home.    What  do  you  think  of  that  girl? 

Fred. — I  think  she  was  mean. 

Teacher. — Did  she  do  right? 

Nellie. — No,  she  did  not. 

Teacher. — If  she  didn't  intend  to  help  me,  ought 
she  to  have  told  me  that  she  would? 

Harry. — No,  ma'am;  she  ought  not  to  have  said 
she  would.    It  was  cheating. 

Teacher.— After  she  had  said  she  would  do  it, 
what  ought  she  to  have  done? 

Jennie. — She  ought  to  have  helped  you. 

Teacher. — W^liat  did  she  do  when  she  told  me  she 
would  help  me  fill  my  basket?  What  do  you  call 
it? 

Clara. — It  was  a  promise. 

Teacher. — Is  it  right  to  make  a  promise  that  you 
do  not  intend  to  keej)? 

Harry. — It  is  not  right. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  Ill 

Teacher. — Charlie  was  a  new  scholar  in  a  school, 
so  did  not  know  that  taking  playthings  to  school 
and  trading  were  forbidden.  Frank  was  an  old 
scholar  and  did  know  it.  The  two  boys  met  one 
afternoon,  after  school. 

Frank  said  to  Charlie,  "If  you  will  give  me  your 
top,  I  will  take  some  marbles  to  school  for  j^ou  to- 
morrow." Charlie  gave  him  the  top.  The  next  day 
Frank  took  the  marbles  to  school,  but  they  were 
taken  away  from  him,  as  he  knew  they  were  very 
likely  to  be.  Could  he  keep  his  promise  to  give 
Charlie  the  marbles? 

Nellie. — No,  he  couldn't  keep  it. 

Teacher. — Was  he  to  blame  for  not  keeping  it? 

John. — I  think  he  was  to  blame,  for  he  knew  that 
he  might  lose  them. 

Teacher. — What  ought  he  to  have  done? 

Harry. — He  ought  to  have  given  the  top  back 
to  Charlie. 

Teacher. — I  think  he  ought.  If  Charlie  had  known 
that  it  was  forbidden,  then  ought  Frank  to  have 
returned  the  top? 

John. — I  think  not,  for  then  Charlie  would  have 
known  that  he  might  never  get  the  marbles. 

Teacher. — What  was  wrong  about  what  Frank 
did? 


112  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

Jolin. — He  ought  not  to  liave  said  that  he  would 
give  Cliarlie  the  marbles,  at  school. 

Teacher. — Can  jou  tell  why? 

John. — Because  he  wasn't  sure  that  he  could  do  it. 

Teacher. — Ought  you  ever  to  make  a  promise  that 
you  are  not  sure  j^ou  can  keep. 

Harry. — No,  ma'am. 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  never  make  a  promise  that  I  do  not  intend 
to  keep. 

I  should  never  make  a  promise  that  I  am  not  very 
sure  I  shall  be  able  to  keep. 


LESSON  XXI. 

KEEPING   PROMISES. 

Teacher. — Henry  Pierce  and  James  King  lived  in 
a  town  that  was  built  on  both  sides  of  a  river. 
Henry  lived  on  one  side  and  James  on  the  other. 
The  boys  were  fast  friends.  They  played,  and 
worked,  and  studied  together. 

"Hemy,"  said  James  onie  day,  "I  am  afraid  I 
shan't  get  my  boat  done  in  time  to  get  any  prac- 


LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING.  113 

tice  before  the  race.  If  I  don't  I  shan't  stand  the 
least  chance  of  winning.  Can't  yon  come  over  and 
help  nie  some  daj"  this  week?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Henr}',  "I  can  give  yon  a  day  as 
well  as  not.  In  fact,  I  can  give  yon  two  days.  Don't 
work  so  hard  to-morrow.  I'll  be  over  both  Friday 
and  Saturda}^,  and  we  can  get  it  done  in  time  to 
try  it  Saturday  afternoon." 

On  Thursday  afternoon  there  was  a  freshet  in  the 
river,  and  it  was  so  swollen,  and  the  waters  were  so 
furious,  that  the  bridge  was  carried  away.  It  was. 
impossible  for  Henry  to  cross  the  river,  even  in  a 
boat,  so  he  did  not  help  his  friend  as  he  had  prom- 
ised. Did  Heniy  do  ^^Tong  when  he  broke  his 
promise? 

Teacher. — No,  he  did  not;  he  was  not  to  blame, 
for,  when  he  made  the  promise,  he  had  every  rea- 
son to  suppose  that  he  could  keei:)  it. 
^^^  Mary's  mother  went  away  from  home  one  day, 
and  left  her  to  take  care  of  the  baby  and  of  the 
house.  She  had  promised  her  mother  to  remain  in 
the  house  all  day,  and  not  leave  it  on  any  account, 
and  that  she  would  take  good  care  of  everything. 

Her  mother  had  not  been  gone  long,  when  Mary 
discovered  that  a  little  fire  had  been  left  where 
some  boys  had  built  a  bon-fli'e,  and  that  it  had  crept 


114  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

to  a  stable  near  by.  She  knew  tliat  in  a  little  while, 
if  something  were  not  done,  the  stable  would  be 
burned.  There  were  horses  in  the  stable  which 
would  be  burned  also. 

She  took  the  baby  in  her  arms  and  ran  to  the  nea,r- 
est  neighbor's  and  gave  the  alarm.  The  stable  was 
saved,  with  everything  it  contained.  Do  you  think 
that  Mary  did  right  when  she  broke  her  promise? 

Fred. — I  think  she  did,  for  it  would  have  done 
a  great  deal  of  harm  if  she  hadn't. 

John. — Her  mother  didn't  know  this  would  hap- 
pen w^hen  she  asked  her  to  make  the  promise. 

Teacher. — I  think  she  did  right  to  break  the  prom- 
ise. 

One  afternoon,  when  Tommy  was  going  home  from 
school,  he  fell  in  with  a  bad  boy, 

"Hello!  Tommy,"  said  the  bad  boy,  "what  are 
you  going  to  do  to-morrow?" 

"Going  to  school,  of  course,"  said  Tommy;  "what 
do  3'ou  suppose?" 

"I  supi^ose  you  are  a  little  dunce  if  you  do,"  said 
the  boy.  "This  is  splendid  weaher  for  chestnutting." 

"I  can  go  for  chestnuts  Saturday,"  said  Tommy. 

"Saturday!"  cried  the  boy;  "they  T\'ill  all  be  gone 
by  Satiu'day.  Come,  go  with  me  to-morrow,  and 
we  will  get  lots  of  them.    Nobody  will  ever  know." 


LESSOxXS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  115 

"Mamma  would  know  if  I  took  the  chestnuts 
home,"  said  Tommy. 

*  "You  needn't  take  them  home,"  said  the  boy. 
"I'll  take  care  of  them  for  you." 

Before  the  boys  separated  Tommy  had  promised 
to  play  truant  and  go  chestnuttiiig.  But  that  night 
when  he  thought  it  all  over;  thought  how  he  would 
feel  if  he  were  found  out ;  thought  how  bad  the  boy 
was  with  whom  he  had  prondsed  to  go ;  thought  how 
wrong  it  would  be,  he  changed  his  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  kept  as  far  as  he  coidd  from 
the  corner  where  he  had  promised  to  meet  the  bad 
boy,  and  went  to  school  as  usual.  Did  he  do  right 
or  wTong  to  break  his  promise?  AVhat  do  you  think, 
^Nellie? 

Nellie. — He  did  right  to  go  to  school.  He  ought 
not  to  liave  gone  with  the  bad  bo^^ 

John. — I  think  he  ought  to  have  done  as  he  said 
he  would. 

Teacher. — Did  he  do  right  to  make  the  prom- 
ise? 

Harry. — No,  but  after  he  made  it  he  ought  to  have 
kept  it. 

Nellie. — I  am  sm-e  he  ought  not  to  have  played 
truant,  anyway,  even  if  he  had  promised. 

Fred. — I  think  he  ought  to  have  broken  the  prom- 


lie  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

ise,  but  lie  ought  to  have  seeu  the  boy  and  told  him 
he  wouldn't  go. 

Teacher.— I  think  that  would  have  been  right. 
You  should  never  promise  to  do  a  wrong  thing, 
but  if  you  have  made  such  a  promise,  you  should 
certainly  break  it. 

SUMMARY. 

If  I  have  made  a  promise  and  find,  after  making 
it,  that  I  shall  do  great  harm  by  keeping  it,  and  no 
harm  by  breaking  it,  it  is  riglit  for  me  to  break  it. 

I  should  never  promise  to  do  anything  that  is 
wrong. 

If  I  have  made  a  promise  to  do  anything  that  is 
wrong,  I  ought  to  break  the  promise. 


LESSON  XXII. 

KEEPING  PROMISES  WHEN  DIFFICULT, 

Teacher. — You  have  learned  about  promises  that 
you  ought  not  to  make  and  about  promises  that  you 
can  not  or  ought  not  to  keep.  Do  you  think  it  is 
ever  necessary  to  make  a  promise? 


LESSONS    IX    RIGHT    DOING.  Il7 

Fred. — Yes,  ma'am;  when  a  man  engages  to  do 
an^'thing  lie  lias  to  make  a  promise. 

Joliii. — When  a  man  rents  a  house  he  has  lo  prom- 
ise to  pay  the  rent. 

Teacher. — When  a  man  has  made  a  promise  ought 
he  to  keep  it? 

Harry. — Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — -If  a  man  does  not  keep  his  promise, 
what  will  be  the  result? 

John. — Xo  one  will  trust  him. 

Teacher. — You  are  right;  no  one  would  trust  a 
man  who  did  not  keep  his  promises,  and  that  would 
be  a  very  serious  matter.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  do  business  as  it  is  done  now  if  people  were  not 
to  be  trusted  when  the}'  make  promises. 

Do  childi'en  ever  have  to  make  promises? 

Nellie. — Yes,  we  have  to  promise  to  do  right  some- 
times. 

John. — I  tliink  we  have  to  make  a  good  many 
promises. 

Teacher. — When  you  have  made  a  right  prom- 
ise, ought  you  to  keep  it? 

Nellie. — I  think  we  ought. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  you  ought  to  keep  a  prom- 
ise when  it  is  hard  to  do  so? 

Nellie. — I  think  we  ought. 


118  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

Teacher. — Let  me  tell  you  a  story  about  a  boy 
who  did  not  keep  a  promise. 

Kalph  Curtis  was  a  fatherless  boy.  When  he  was 
fourteen  years  of  age  his  mother  allowed  him  to 
leave  school  and  begin  work.  This  was  very  hard 
for  her,  for  she  longed  to  give  her  only  son  as  good 
an  education  as  he  would  have  received  had  his 
father  lived. 

Kalph  loved  school  and  knew  how  much  a  few 
more  years  of  study  woidd  add  to  his  happiness. 
But  he  knew  how  hard  it  was  for  his  mother  to 
support  him  and  his  little  sisters,  so  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  thought  of  leading  the  books  he  loved 
to  take  his  place  beside  her  in  bearing  the  burden 
of  work. 

After  some  time,  Ealph  heard  of  a  place  that 
seemed  to  be  just  what  he  wanted.  He  applied 
for  it  and  was  told  that  he  could  have  it  if  he  could 
bring  the  right  kind  of  a  recommendation.  After 
being  told  this  Kalph  started  toward  home  with  a 
very  light  heart. 

"Oh,  mother,"  he  cried,  as  he  bounded  into  the 
house,  "  I  know  I  shall  have  the  place,  for  Mr.  Con- 
gar  told  me  I  should  have  it  if  I  could  bring  a  good 
recommendation.  Mr.  Clapp  will  give  me  the  best 
kind  of  a  recommendation.    I  will  go  after  it  this 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  119 

evening,  for  I  must  take  it  early  iu  the  morning. 
Mr.  Congar  is  in  a  liiirry  to  till  tlie  x>lii<^*e,  and  won't 
wait.    Tliere  are  plenty  of  others  trying  to  get  it." 

As  soon  as  he  had  eaten  his  dinner,  Italph  hurried 
away  to  Mr.  Clapp's.  Charlie  Clapp,  who  was  his 
best  friend,  met  him  at  tlie  door.  He  was  much 
pleased  when  he  knew  of  his  friend's  good  fortune. 
The  two  boys  went  to  the  library  where  Mr.  Clapp 
was  reading,  and  Kalpli  told  his  errand. 

"I  will  give  you  a  recommendation  with  pleasure," 
said  Mr.  Clapp  kindly,  "because  I  know  that  you 
deserve  it.  I  think  that  this  will  be  a  good  place 
for  you.  It  is  a  good  business,  work  that  you  can 
do  well,  and  there  will  be  a  chance  for  you  to  rise. 
I  can  not  write  it  just  now^;  I  fear  it  will  be  quite 
late  before  I  can  do  it.  Don't  wait  for  it;  Charlie 
can  take  it  to  you  iu  the  morniug." 

"Of  course  I  can;  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it,"  cried 
Charlie.    "How  early  do  you  want  it?" 

"I  must  have  it  as  earh'  as  eight  o'clock,"  replied 
Kali)h,  "but  you  needn't  bring  it  to  me,  I  will  come 
for  it." 

"Oh,  no,"  cried  Charlie,  "1  will  take  it  to  you; 
you  have  a  good  deal  to  do  in  the  morning,  and  I 
have  nothing.  I  promise  to  briug  it  to  you  in 
time." 


120  LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

The  next  morning,  with  the  letter  placed  carefully 
in  his  pocket,  Charlie  started  to  go  to  his  friend's 
house,  but  just  as  he  reached  his  own  gate  his  uncle 
Charles  drove  up  and  asked  him  to  ride.  Charlie 
thought  of  his  friend,  thougiit  of  his  promise;  but 
he  wanted  the  ride  very  much.  He  did  so  love  to 
ride  behind  his  uncle's  beautiful  horses,  and 
he  so  seldom  had  a  chance.  He  shut  his  mind  to  the 
,  :.o  Lx  cGiiscience,  sprang  into  the  carriage  and 
drove  away. 

He  was  not  at  all  happy.  He  couldn't  help  think- 
ing of  the  letter  in  his  pocket.  He  tried  to  make  him- 
self think  that  it  Avouldn't  make  any  difference. 
"Surely,"  he  said  to  himself,  "Kalph  wouldn't  want 
me  to  lose  so  much  pleasure;  an  hour  or  two  can't 
make  much  difference.  I  will  take  it  to  him  as  soon 
as  I  get  back."  Uncle  Charles  wondered  why  the 
boy,  who  w^as  usually  so  bright  and  full  of  talk, 
should  be  so  sober  and  quiet. 

Did  Charlie  do  right  when  he  broke  his  promise? 

Harry. — No,  ma'am;  it  was  wTong. 

Teacher. — But  he  didn't  know  about  the  ride  when 
he  made  the  promise.  Didn't  that  make  it  right 
for  him  to  break  it? 

John. — I  don't  think  it  did. 

Teacher. — But  lie  wanted  to  go  very  much.    It 


LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING.  121 

would  have  been  liarcl  for  biiii  to  lose  the  ride.  Was 
not  that  a  good  excuse  for  breaking  the  promise? 

Nellie. — Ko,  I  am  siu'e  it  was  not  a  good  excuse. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  you  ought  to  keep  a  right 
promise,  if  you  can,  even  if  it  is  very  hard  to  do  so? 

Nellie. — Yes,  I  think  we  ought. 

Teacher. — Let  me  tell  you  how  this  story  ended. 
Ralph  rose  early  on  that  morning  and  did  all  his 
work  as  quickl}*  as  he  could.  He  was  ready  to  start 
for  Mr.  Cougar's  place  of  business  some  time  before 
eight  o'clock,  so  he  decided  not  to  wait  for  Charlie, 
but  to  start  for  Mr.  Clapp's  at  once. 

"Very  likeh*  I  shall  meet  Charlie  on  tlie  way,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "but  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
even  if  I  do  not."  He  was  a  little  surprised  when 
he  did  not  meet  him  nor  find  him  anj^^here  about 
the  place  when  he  reached  it. 

He  found  IVIi's.  Clapp,  told  her  what  he  wanted, 
and  asked  for  Charlie.  He  was  very  !much  sui'- 
prised  when  she  told  him  that  she  had  seen  Charlie 
drive  away  with  his  uncle  less  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  before.  She  supposed  that  he  had  attended 
to  the  letter  before  he  started. 

"Perhaps  they  have  driven  to  oiu'  house,"  said 
Ralph,  "though  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  missed 
them  if  they  have," 


122  LESSONS    IN    KIGHT    DOING. 

"I  think  not,"  said  Mrs.  Clapp,  "for  they  drove 
the  other  way." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,"  said  Kalph, 
"but  I  am  sure  he  will  be  there  with  it,  because  he 
promised  me  he  would.  I'll  go  right  back.  I  hope 
I  won't  be  late."  ' 

He  hurried  home  feeling  much  troubled,  but  found 
that  Charlie  was  not  there  and  had  not  been  there. 

The  next  two  hours  seemed  like  weeks  to  the  boy, 
and  when  Charlie  came  and  gave  his  miserable 
excuse,  Kalph  felt  as  if  he  could  never  forgive  him. 

He  rushed  away  to  Mr.  Cougar's  with  the  recom- 
mendation, only  to  be  told,  as  he  had  feared  he 
would  be,  that  he  was  too  late.  The  place  had  been 
filled  by  a  boy  who  was  "on  time." 

Poor  Ealph!  he  felt  as  if  all  the  brightness  had 
gone  out  of  the  world. 

When  Charlie  knew  the  result  of  his  wrong  doing, 
he,  too,  was  very  unhappy.  He  went  to  his  father, 
told  him  the  whole  truth  and  begged  him  to  get 
another  place  for  Ralph.  This  he  did  in  time,  but 
it  did  not  make  up  to  Ralph  for  his  disappointment. 

Ralph  forgave  Charlie  and  they  Avere  again 
friends,  but  Charlie  could  not  forgive  himself  for 
the  wrong  he  had  done  his  friend.  It  made  him 
very  careful  about  keeping  his  promises. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  123 

A  broken  promise  does  not  always  cause  so  much 
trouble  as  tliis  one  did.  You  can  see  the  wrong  in 
this  case.  But  what  do  you  think  of  the  little  prom- 
ises that  3^ou  make?  Is  it  wrong  to  break  such 
promises? 

Fred. — I  think  it  is  wrong. 

Teacher. — Yes,  it  is  wrong.  There  are  many  rea- 
sons why  you  should  keep  your  promises  beside  the 
danger  of  doing  harm  by  breaking  them.  You  must 
keep  your  promises  if  you  wish  to  be  trusted.  You 
should  keep  them  so  as  to  get  the  habit  of  being- 
trustworthy.  It  will  hurt  you  to  break  a  promise, 
whether  it  hurts  anyone  else  or  not. 

SUMM.MIY. 

When  I  have  made  a  right  promise  I  should 
always  try  my  best  to  keep  it^  even  if  it  is  very  hard 
to  do  so. 

LESSON  XXIII. 

THE  BOY  WHO  KEPT  HIS  PROMISE. 


PART     I. 

Paul  was  absent  from  school — Paul,  the  faithful; 
Paul,  the  punctual.  I  asked  many  questions,  but 
could  find  out  nothing  about  him. 


124  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

Wlien  Saturday  came,  I  soiiglit  out  the  little  cot- 
tage on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  Paul  and 
his  father  lived  alone.  As  I  had  feared,  the  boy  had 
been  sick.  He  was  about  the  house  now,  and  eagerly 
assured  me  that  he  would  be  well  enough  to  go  to 
school  the  next  Monday. 

Paul  told  me  the  story  that  I  mil  repeat  for  you. 
He  told  it  a  little  at  a  time,  in  answer  to  my  ques- 
tions, and  in  a  matter-of-fact  ^ay  that  showed  very 
plainly  that  he  had  no  idea  he  had  done  anything 
more  than  anybody  would  have  done  under  the 
same  circumstances.  He  surely  did  not  think  him- 
self a  hero,  whatever  you  or  I  may  think  of  him. 

"You  remember  the  blizzard  last  week?"  said 
Paul.  I  certainly  did,  for  even  in  this  land  of  bliz- 
zards, the  one  of  the  week  before  had  been  one  to  be 
remembered.  "Well,"  went  on  Paul,  "I  was  out 
in  it,  and  that  is  the  way  I  got  sick.  Father,  you 
know,  works  on  the  railroad.  Perhaps  you  have 
heard  that  there  have  been  ^Teckers  about  lately. 

"A  couple  of  miles  from  here  the  railroad  crosses  a 
stream.  There  are  woods  by  the  stream,  and  it  is  a 
rough,  wild  place.  The  railroad  men  thought  that 
wreckers  were  hiding  in  the  woods,  and  they  were 
afraid  they  might  come  out  when  the  night-ex- 
presses passed  along;  so  they  told  father  to  watch 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  125 

every  nigiit  last  week  till  after  the  express  trains 
passed,  each  Avay,  safely. 

"There  is  a  little  log  house  iu  the  woods  where 
some  folks  ouce  lived — I  think  they  must  have  been 
pretty  poor  folks,  for  it  is  a  mean,  little  place. 
Father  has  a  bed  and  a  stove  in  the  hut.  Every  even- 
ing he  went  there  and  stayed  till  most  time  for  a 
train  to  come  along,  and  then  went  out  and  looked 
all  along  the  track  to  see  that  everything  was  all 
right,  Nearly  every  night  I  went  with  him,  and 
slept  in  the  hut  till  he  was  through  for  the  night  aud 
ready  to  come  home. 

"Last  week,  Friday,  when  I  came  home  from 
school,  father  had  supper  all  ready  for  us.  We  ate 
it,  and  then  got  ready  to  start. 

"Just  then,  father  remembered  that  Jack  Nes- 
turn  had  borrowed  his  overcoat,  and  had  not 
brought  it  back.  Father  said  it  wouldn't  be  safe 
for  him  to  spend  so  many  hours  on  the  prairie,  as 
he  w^ould  have  to,  without  an  overcoat,  for  it  was 
bitter  cold  and  growing  colder  every  minute. 

"We  waited  awhile  for  Jack,  and  then  father  said 
he  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  for  the  eastern  bound 
way-train  would  be  along  by  the  time  he  could  get 
to  the  woods  and  look  around. 

"  So  I  told  him  that  I  would  wait  for  Jack  and  run 


126  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

on  after  liim  with  the  overcoat.  I  thought,  like  as 
not,  Jack  would  get  here  pretty  soon,  and  then  I 
could  run  and  catch  him.  Father  was  afraid  that 
if  Jack  didn't  come  soon,  I  might  fall  asleep,  and 
not  wake  up  enough  to  remember  the  overcoat; 
but  I  promised  him  I  would  surely  take  it. 

"After  he  left  I  w^as  lonesome,  but  I  tidied  up  the 
room,  and  studied  my  lessons  a  little,  and  played 
wdth  the  cat." 

PART    II. 

"It  was  almost  two  hours  before  Jack  came,  and 
by  that  time  it  was  as  dark  as  pitch;  the  mud  had 
begun  to  blow,  and  it  was  snoring,  too. 

"Jack  said  we  would  have  a  blizzard  before  morn- 
ing. He  didn't  seem  to  care  a  bit  about  the  over- 
coat. He  told  me  I  had  better  hurry  up,  or  I  might 
get  caught  in  the  blizzard  and  never  get  to  the  hut 
in  the  woods. 

"When  I  started  out  it  was  freezing  cold,  and  the 
wind  blowing  like  anything.  I  thought  for  a  min- 
ute that  I  wouldn't  go;  I  thought  likely  father  might 
have  something  in  the  hut  that  he  could  WTap  up 
in.  Then  I  remembered  that  he  would  expect  me, 
and  that  I  had  promised;  so  of  course  I  must  go, 
Gtorm  or  no  storm. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  127 

"I  fastened  the  overcoat  on  my  back  by  putting 
the  sleeves  aroimd  mj  neck  and  t^ing  them  in  front. 
Then  I  took  the  lantern  and  started  out.  It  was  so 
wild  that  I  was  a  little  scared. 

"Oh,  I  knew  the  way  well  enough;  I  couldn'  t  get 
lost,  for  that  fence  that  you  see  out  there  leads 
right  to  the  railroad,  about  half  a  mile  from  here; 
and  once  I  struck  the  railroad  I  could  follow  it  up. 

"No,  I  wasn't  very  cold.  I  had  to  work  so  hard, 
walking  against  the  wind,  that  I  was  warm  enough. 
I  froze  my  hands  and  feet  a  little,  though,"  and  the 
boy  showed  me  his  hands,  which  had  been  badly 
frost-bitten. 

"When  I  got  to  the  railroad  I  did  want  to  come 
back,  I  was  so  tired;  but  I  had  promised,  you  know, 
so  I  couldn't.  I  rested  a  little,  though.  I  wi^apped 
myself  up  in  father's  coat  and  lay  down  by  the 
fence.  I  felt  just  as  if  I  should  like  to  stay  there 
always,  it  was  so  nice. 

"Pretty  soon  I  began  to  get  so  sleepy,  that  I  didn't 
dare  lie  there  any  longer;  so  I  got  up,  and  took  up 
my  lantern,  and  went  on. 

"I  wasn't  cold,  but  I  was  so  tired  that  I  was  afraid 
I  should  fall  down  before  I  could  get  to  father.  The 
snow  cut  my  face  and  it  was  hard  work  to  breathe. 
I  had  to  stop  and  rest  two  or  three  times  before  I 


128  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING, 

got  to  the  woods ;  but  I  didn't  dare  rest  long,  for 
fear  I  should  go  to  sleep  and  not  get  the  overcoat 
to  father,  after  all. 

"After  awhile  I  got  to  the  edge  of  the  woods.  It 
was  not  storming  quite  so  hard  then,  and  it  was  not 
so  dark  as  it  had  been,  so  I  could  see  a  little 
better. 

"I  was  pretty  sure  that  father  had  just  been  over 
that  part  of  the  road  and  was  going  back  to  the  hut, 
for  I  could  see  the  least  little  bit  of  light  moving 
along. 

"After  a  little  while  I  heard  the  express  train  com- 
ing in  back  of  me,  and  then  I  knew  that  he  had 
been  down  to  see  that  the  track  was  all  right  for  it 
to  pass  along.  I  thought  by  the  spark  of  light  that 
he  was  on  the  bridge  that  crosses  the  stream. 

"I  thought  I  would  lie  down  and  rest  till  the  train 
passed.  I  wrapped  up  again,  and  I  covered  up  the 
lantern,  so  that  the  train  men  shouldn't  see  it  and 
think  something  was  wrong. 

"You  know  I  told  you  that  it  wasn't  storming 
quite  so  hard  for  awhile  then,  and  I  could  see  a  little. 
There  was  a  moon,  and  it  would  have  been  a  bright 
night  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  storm. 

"Just  then — would  you  believe  it?"  and  Paul's  eyes 
looked  very  big  and  bright  when  he  came   to  this 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  iL*!) 

part  of  tlie  story,  "would  3^011  believe  it,  ma'am, 
two  men  came  from  behind  some  trees,  and  did 
sometliing  to  the  track,  and  then  ran  back  to  tlie 
trees  again. 

"I  suppose  they  had  been  so  busy  watching 
father's  lantern  that  they  hadn't  seen  mine.  I 
didn't  see  them  ver}^  plain;  they  looked  like  two 
shadows  against  the  snow,  but  I  guessed  what  they 
were  doing. 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do,"  went  on  the  boy  earn- 
estly, "I  kne^v  it  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  call,  for 
father  couldn't  hear  me  amT^^ay.  I  was  afraid  to 
run  after  him — for  the  men  miglit  catch  me  and  kill 
me.  Anyway,  if  I  got  away  from  them,  and  ran 
to  father,  it  would  be  too  late  to  do  any  good,  for 
the  train  was  getting  pretty  near. 

"So  I  just  kept  the  big  coat  wrapped  around  the 
lantern,  and  ran*on  the  road  toward  the  train.  The 
men  didn't  see  me,  I  guess — anyT\''ay,  they  didn't  run 
after  me. 

"When  I  got  almost  to  the  train  I  dropped  the 
overcoat,  and  ran  toward  it,  waving  my  lantern  as 
bard  as  I  could.  The  train  men  saw  it  and  stopped. 
They  fixed  the  track  and  went  on,  all  right. 

"You  see,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy,  in  ending  his 
story,  "if  I  hadn't  promised  father  to  take  the  coat 


130  LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

to  him,  the  train  would  have  been  wrecked,  and 
perhaps  lots  of  folks  killed." 

I,  myself,  saw  that  if  he  hadn't  kept  his  promise, 
like  the  little  hero  that  he  was,  many  lives  might 
have  been  lost.  Paul  didn't  seem  to  think  of  that 
at  aU. 

But  Paul  had  done  something  that  winter's  night 
besides  saving  the  train.  He  had  kept  his  word 
when  it  was  very  hard  to  do  it,  and  had  thus  done 
much  towards  making  himself  what  he  afterwards 
became,  a  strong,  true  man,  whose  word  was  always 
trusted  by  those  who  knew  him.  From  that  time 
until  now  he  has  been  kno^Ti  by  his  friends  as, 
"Paul,  the  Promise-Keeper." 

SUMMARY. 

I  should  never  make  a  promise  that  I  do  not 
intend  to  keep. 

I  should  never  make  a  promise  that  I  am  not  very 
sure  I  shall  be  able  to  keep. 

If  I  have  made  a  promise  and  find,  after  making 
it,  that  I  shall  do  great  harm  by  keeping  it  and  no 
harm  by  breaking  it,  it  is  right  for  me  to  break  it. 

I  should  never  promise  to  do  anything  that  is 
wrong. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  131 

If  I  have  made  a  promise  to  do  anything  that  is 
wrong,  I  ought  to  break  the  promise. 

When  I  have  made  a  right  promise,  I  should  do 
my  best  to  keep  it,  even  if  it  is  very  hard  to  do  so. 

MOTTO  : 

A  promise  is  a  sacred  thing. 

Be  not  in  liaste  to  inalve  it ; 
But,  when  a  promise  you  have  made. 

Be  sure  you  do  not  break  it. 


BLACKBOARD    EXERCISES. 

MAKING  PROMISES  NOT  INTENDING  TO  KEEP  THEM. 

IMAKING  PROMISES  THAT  CAN  NOT  BE  KEPT. 

WHEN  RIGHT  TO  BREAK  PROMISES. 

PROMISING  TO  DO  WRONG. 

WRONG    PROMISES  SHOULD   BE   BROKEN. 

KEEPING  PROMISES  EVEN  WHEN  DIFFICULT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CONSCIENCE. 
LESSON  XXIV. 

WHAT  IS  CONSCIENCE? 

Teacher. — This  momng,  when  coming  to  school, 
I  passed  a  merry  group  of  children.  Among  them 
were  two  who  were  brother  and  sister.  The  little 
girl  was  playing  with  a  return  ball.  Suddenly  the 
cord  broke,  and  the  ball  hit  the  boy  a  sharp  blow. 
With  a  look  of  sorrow,  the  girl  ran  to  her  brother 
to  comfort  him.  Without  waiting  to  hear  a  word, 
the  boy  doubled  up  his  fist  and  struck  her  full  in 
the  face.  Just  then  they  spied  me  looking  at  them. 
How  do  you  suppose  the  boy  looked?  Willie  may 
tell. 

Willie. — I  think  he  looked  sorry. 

Teacher. — He  ought  to  have  looked  sorry,  but  he 
didn't,  for  he  was  still  angry. 

Harry. — ^I  think  he  looked  mad. 

136 


136  LESSONS   IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

Teacher. — ^Yes,  he  looked  angry,  but  there  was 
another  look  in  his  face  beside  anger. 

Minnie. — I  think  he  looked  ashamed. 

Teacher. — You  are  right.  Fred  may  tell  me  why 
he  was  ashamed. 

Fred. — Because  you  saw  him. 

Teacher. — Even  if  no  one  had  seen  him,  wouldn't 
he  haye  been  ashamed  if  he  had  stopped  to  think? 

Lucy. — I  think  he  would. 

Teacher. — Perhaps  John  can  tell  me  why  he  was 
ashamed. 

John. — He  was  ashamed  because  he  knew  he  had 
done  wrong. 

Teacher. — You  are  right;  but  how  did  he  know 
that  what  he  had  done  was  ^vTong? 

Jennie. — Perhaps  his  mother  had  told  him  never 
to  strike  his  sister. 

Teacher. — Very  likely.  If  no  one  had  told  him  so, 
would  he  have  felt  ashamed? 

Harry. — I  think  he  would  not. 

Jennie. — I  don't  know. 

Fannie. — He  would  have  felt  ashamed  anyw^ay, 
for  he  must  have  known  that  it  was  mean  to  hit  her. 

Teacher. — How  would  he  have  known  that  it  was 
TNTong,  if  no  one  had  ever  told  him? 

Jennie. — He  would  think  it  in  his  heart. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOINCx.  137 

Teacher. — Yes,  but  what  would  make  him  "think 
it  in  his  heart?" 

Nellie.^I  know;  it  was  his  conscience. 

Teachei:. — "SMiat  is  conscience?    Harry  may  tell. 

Harry. — It  is  something  that  tells  us  when  we 
have  done  wrong. 

Teacher. — Does  it  tell  yon  when  you  have  done 
right? 

Harry. — I  think  it  does. 

Teacher. — In  the  story  that  I  told  you  the  little 
girl  hurt  her  brother  before  he  struck  her.  Do  you 
think  she  was  ashamed  of  hiu'ting  him? 

Nellie. — No;  but  I  think  she  was  sorry. 

Teacher. — Why  was  she  not  ashamed?    All  tell. 

Children. — Because  she  didn't  mean  to  do  it. 

Teacher. — If  she  had  thrown  the  ball  carelessly, 
without  looking  to  see  whether  or  not  it  was  in 
danger  of  hitting  him,  and  in  that  way  had  hit  and 
hurt  him,  would  she  have  felt  ashamed? 

Nellie. — I  think  she  would  have  felt  a  little 
ashamed. 

Teacher. — As  it  was,  she  was  not  careless  and  she 
did  not  intend  to  do  any  harm,  it  was  entu'ely  an  ac- 
cident; so  her  conscience  did  not  tell  her  that  she 
had  done  vin'ong. 

The  boy  did  not  seem  to  be  at  aU  ashamed  until 


138  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

he  saw  that  I  was  looking  at  him.    Do  you  suppose 
his  conscience  told  him  not  to  strike  his  sister  before 
he  did  it? 
Harry. — I  think  it  did,  but  he  didn't  listen  to  it- 
Teacher. — When  is  the  right  time  to  listen  to  con- 
science,  before  or  after  you  have  performed  an 
action? 
Nellie. — Before  we  do  things. 
Teacher. — Will  your  conscience  always  tell  you 
what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong  for  you  to  do? 
Jennie. — I  think  it  A\dll. 

Teacher. — It  has  been  said  that  conscience  is  the 
voice  of  God  in  the  soul,  teaching  us  what  is  right 
and  what  is  wrong.  If  you  are  not  perfectly  sure 
whether  or  not  an  action  is  right,  you  can  ask 
some  one,  your  parents,  or  some  one  else  who  is 
older  and  wiser  than  you,  to  help  you.  You  must 
never  trj"^  to  make  your  conscience  tell  you  that 
something  that  is  wrong  is  not  wrong  just  because 
it  is  the  thing  you  want  to  do.  You  must  be  hon- 
est with  your  conscience,  theu  it  will  grow  to  be 
trusted  more  and  more  all  the  time. 

SUMMARY. 

Conscience  is  the  voice  within  me,  telling  me  what 
is  right  and  what  is  wrong. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  139 

LESSON  XXV. 

OBEYING  CONSCIENCE. 

Teacher. — Roger  and  Mabel  Kent  lived  in  a  little 
village  and  attended  school  at  the  Village  Academy. 

One  afternoon,  when  they  went  home  from  school, 
they  found  no  one  at  home  and  a  little  note  lying  on 
the  dining-room  table  telling  them  that  their  mother 
had  been  suddenly  called  away  to  visit  a  sick  child. 

"That  is  just  the  way  it  always  is,"  gTumbled 
Roger,  "if  anybody  is  sick,  mother  is  sure  to  be 
sent  for.  I  hate  to  come  home  and  not  find  mother 
here."  When  the  children  went  to  the  kitchen 
they  felt  more  unhappy  than  ever.  The  dinner 
dishes  were  unwashed,  the  kitchen  floor  unswept. 

"Mother  must  have  left  in  a  hurry,"  said  Roger, 
as  he  gazed  about  the  usually  orderly  room. 

"I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Poor's  baby  is  very  sick,"  said 
Mabel. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked  Roger. 

"Do!"  said  Mabel,  "I  shall  take  my  new  story 
book  and  get  into  the  hammock  and  read  till  mother 
comes  home." 

"It  sti'ikes  me  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  you  to 
wash  the  dishes,"  said  Roger.  "Mother  will  be 
iired  enough  when  she  comes  home,  without  hav- 


140  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

ing  all  this  work  to  do;  it  is  a  loug  walk  to  Mrs 
Poor's  and  back.    If  you  will  do  it,  I  will  help  you." 

"I  dou't  want  to,"  said  Mabel,  '^I  want  to  read;" 
and  she  took  her  bobk  and  settled  herself  in  the 
hammock.  Mabel's  conscience  told  her  that  shfe  was 
being  very  selfish  and  unkind,  but  she  closed  her 
ears  to  its  voice  and  would  not  listen. 

"Selfish!  I  must  say!"  growled  Roger.  "Well!  I 
won't  do  it  all  alone.  Miss  Mabel;  it  isn't  boy's  w^ork 
any  way,"  and  in  a  \ei-y  discontented  mood  he 
loitered  out  into  the  street. 

"Hello!  Jim,"  he  called  to  a  boy  who  was  pass- 
ing, "where  are  you  going?" 

"To  the  grove,"  answered  Jim,  "do  you  want  to 
go  along?" 

Roger  didn't  answer,  but  started  with  Jim  toward 
the  grove.  When  they  had  gone  a  little  way,  Jim 
took  some  cigars  from  his  pocket,  offered  one  to 
Roger  and  began  to  light  one  for  himself. 

"I  don't  smoke,  thank  you,"  said  Roger. 

"You  are  a  baby,"  said  Jim. 

"I'm  not  a  baby^  and  you'd  better  not  say  so 
again,"  cried  Roger. 

I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened  next, 
had  not  Roger's  conscience  told  him,  in  a  very  loud 
tone,  that  he  was  doing  wrong.    He  didn't  close 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  141 

his  ears  to  its  Aoice  as  liis  sister  liad  done;  he  just 
turned  around  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  ever  he  eonkl. 
When  he  reached  home  he  tried  once  more  to  get 
his  sister  to  do  her  share  of  the  work,  but  in  vain. 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  an;y'way,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  returned  to  the  kitchen.  He  built  a  fire  and 
put  some  water  on  the  stove  to  heat,  swept  the 
kitchen  and  ])ut  it  in  order.  He  looked  at  the  dishes, 
and  said  to  himself,  "Mabel  is  as  mean  as  she  can 
be.  I'll  ask  her  again."  AVhen  he  reached  the 
hammock  he  found  it  empty.  He  called  his  sister, 
but  received  no  answer,  and  he  went  back  to  the 
kitchen. 

"Washing  dishes  isn't  boy's  work,  but  being  good 
to  mother  is,  and  I  guess  a  boy  who  can  stand  at  the 
head  of  his  class  in  school  can  wash  a  few  dishes. 
I'll  try  it  anyway.  I  don't  want  to  do  it  any  more 
than  Mabel  does,  but  I  won't  be  so  mean  as  to 
leave  all  this  work  for  mother." 

Just  then  Roger  thought  of  the  new  kite  that  he 
had  finished  the  evening  before  and  hadn't  tried 
yet.  He  knew  that  if  he  washed  the  dishes  he 
would  have  no  time  to  fly  it  that  day;  but  Koger 
was  used  to  obeying  his  conscience  and  it  made 
him  strong  to  do  what  he  thought  was  right  now. 
He  had  finished  the  last  dish  before  his  mother 


142  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

came,  and  lie  was  fully  rewarded  for  all  his  self- 
denial  by  the  pleased  look  that  came  into  her  tired 
face  when  she  saw  Avhat  he  had  done. 

What  do  you  think  of  Roger,  childi'en? 

Nellie. — He  was  a  good  boy. 

Teacher. — When  Jim  asked  him  to  smoke,  why 
didn't  he  do  it? 

Fred. — Because  he  knew  it  was  wrong. 

John. — Because  his  conscience  told  him  not  to  do 
it. 

Teacher. — Ought  you  always  to  obey  your  con- 
science? 

Harry. — Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — What  if  your  conscience  tells  you  to 
do  something  that  you  dislike  very  much  to  do, 
ought  you  to  obey  it  then? 

Xellie. — I  think  we  ouglit. 

Teacher. — Was  it  easy  for  Eoger  to  do  all  the  work 
that  he  did? 

Fred. — I  think  it  was  hard. 

Teacher. — Was  it  manly? 

Harry. — I  don't  know. 

Teacher. — Isn't  it  always  manly  to  do  kind  things 
for  your  mothers? 

James. — Yes,  ma'am,  it  is. 

Teacher. — If  Koger  kept  right  on  obeying  his  con- 


LESSONS   IN   RIGHT    DOING.  143 

science  every  day  as  lie  did  that  day,  what  kind 
of  a  man  wonhT  he  make? 

Hariy. — A  j>ood  man. 

Teacher. — I  think  he  wonkl  make  a  very  good 
man.  Do  yon  snppose  that  Jim's  conscience  told 
him  that  he  onj^ht  not  to  smoke? 

Fred. — I  think  not.  Some  boys  jnst  as  lief  smoke 
as  not. 

John. — I  think  that,  come  right  down  to  it,  they 
know  it  is  WTong,  bnt  they  don't  think  abont  it  at  all. 

Teacher. — I  think  so,  too.  Do  yon  snppose  that 
all  boys  w'onld  feel  as  Eoger  did  abont  the  work? 

Jolm. — Most  hojs  wonldn't  think  abont  it  at  all. 

Teacher. — I  fear  they  wonldn't;  that  is  becanse 
they  are  not  in  the  habit,  as  Roger  was,  of  obeying 
their  consciences.  If  yon  wish  to  be  wide-awake  to 
the  voice  of  conscience  so  as  to  know  jnst  what  you 
onght  to  do  all  the  time,  yon  mnst  listen  to  it  and 
ohej  it.  Yon  onght  to  begin  doing  that  right  away, 
if  you  haven't  already.  If  you  do  you  will  be  sur- 
prised at  the  many  things  that  it  will  tell  you  to 
do  that  you  haven't  thought  of  before.  It  will  be 
very  hard  at  first,  because  it  mil  tell  you  to  do  so 
many  things  that  you  dislike;  but  you  will  grow 
after  awhile  to  want  to  do  the  things  that  it  tells 
you  are  right. 


144  LESSONS   IN   EIGHT    DOING. 

SUMMARY. 

Before  I  perform  any  action  I  ouglit  to  listen  to 
my  conscience  so  as  to  know  wlietlier  what  I  wish 
to  do  is  right  or  wrong,  and  then  I  should  do  what  it 
says  is  right.  I  ought  to  obey  my  conscience  always, 
even  when  it  tells  me  to  do  something  that  is  very 
hard  to  do. 

By  so  doing  I  shall  keep  myself  awake  to  its  voice, 
and  shall  always  hear  it,  clear  and  strong. 

If  I  form  a  habit  of  listening  to  my  conscience  and 
obeying  it  I  shall  grow  up  to  be  good  and  true. 

LESSON  XXYL 

HAPPINESS  IN  OBEYING  CONSCIENCE— SELF  EXAMINATION. 

Teacher. — In  the  story  of  Eoger  and  Mabel  Kent, 
did  Mabel's  conscience  tell  her  what  she  ought  to  do? 

Nellie. — ^Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — What  did  Mabel  do  about  it? 

Nellie. — She  wouldn't  listen  to  it. 

Fred. — She  wouldn't  mind  it. 

Teacher. — Mabel  did  what  she  wanted  to  do,  not 
what  she  knew  she  ought  to  do.  Isn't  that  the  way 
a  good  many  boys  and  girls  do?  Don't  they  just  ask 
themselves  what  they  want  to  do,  instead  of  asking 
what  they  ought  to  do? 

John. — I  think  they  do. 


LESSONS    IN   EIGHT    DOING.  145 

Teacher. — If  Mabel  kept  right  on  refusing  to 
listen  to  and  obey  her  conscience,  would  she  grow 
up  to  be  a  good,  noble,  unselfish  Avoman? 

John. — No,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — Do  you  remember  that  when  Koger 
went  to  the  hammock  to  ask  his  sister  again  to  do 
her  part  of  the  work,  but  she  was  not  there?  Let 
me  tell  you  where  she  had  gone.  She  grew  tired 
of  her  story  after  awhile,  the  more  quickly  because 
her  conscience  was  troubliug  her,  and  decided  to  go 
to  the  house  of  one  of  her  schoolmates. 

This  she  knew  was  wrong;  for,  not  only  had  she 
been  many  times  forbidden  to  go  away  from  home 
without  permission,  but  she  had  been  specially  for- 
bidden to  go  to  this  little  girl's  house,  because  she 
was  a  naughty,  untruthful  child.  Do  you  think  she 
enjoyed  her  visit  with  the  little  girl? 

Jennie. — I  think  not. 

Teacher. — No,  she  did  not ;  she  was  very  unhappy, 
and  she  did  not  stay  long.    Why  was  she  unhappy? 

Nellie. — Because  she  was  doing  wrong. 

Teacher. — Is  one  always  unhappy  when  doing 
wrong? 

Jennie. — Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — When  evening  came,  how  do  you  think 
Eoger  felt? 


146  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

Jolin. — He  was  liappy. 

Teacher. — And  Mabel,  liow  did  slie  feel? 

Xellie. — Very  uuliappy. 

Teacher. — Are  you  sure?  Eoger  had  spent  the 
whole  afternoon  doing  disagreeable  work,  and  Ma- 
bel had  spent  it  doing  exactly  as  she  chose.  Are 
yon  sure  that  Roger  was  happy  and  Mabel  un- 
happy? 

Xellie. — Yes,  I  am  sure. 

Teacher. — Does  it  always  make  you  happy  to  do 
right,  and  unhappy  to  do  -vv^rong? 

John. — I  think  it  does. 

Nellie. — I  am  sure  it  does. 

Teacher. — Now,  when  it  was  all  oyer,  what  did 
Roger's  conscience  tell  him? 

Fred. — It  told  him  that  he  had  done  right. 

Teacher. — What  did  Mabel's  conscience  tell  her? 

Hany. — It  told  her  that  she  had  done  wrong. 

Teacher. — Would  it  do  any  good  for  Mabel  to 
listen  to  her  conscience,  now,  after  she  had  dis- 
obeyed it? 

Nellie. — ^I  think  not. 

Fred. — Perhaps  she  could  do  something  for  Roger 
to  make  up  for  not  helping  him  before. 

Jennie. — Perhaps  she  wouldn't  do  such  things 
>^gain,  if  she  felt  sorry  about  it. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  147 

Jessie. — She  could  tell  lier  mother,  and  say  she 
was  sorry,  and  promise  to  do  right  next  time. 

Teacher. — What  do  you  think  now,  Harry?  Is  it 
of  any  use  to  listen  to  conscience  after  joii  have 
done wrono? 

Harry. — Yes,  it  is  of  some  use. 

Teacher. — Every  evening  you  ought  to  think  over 
every  action  of  the  day,  and,  if  you  find  that  you 
have  done  anything  wrong,  do  what  you  can  to 
make  it  right.  It  is  right  to  listen  to  your  con- 
science during  the  day,  while  you  are  working,  and 
studying,  and  playing;  but  it  is  also  right  to  look 
back,  each  evening,  over  the  day,  to  see  how  you 
have  spent  it. 

SUMMARY. 

If  I  obey  my  conscience  I  shall  be  happy. 

If  I  disobey  it  I  shall  be  unhappy. 

Every  evening  I  should  think  over  the  actions  I 
have  performed  during  the  day. 

If  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  have  done  any- 
thing wrong,  I  should  undo  it,  if  I  can. 

If  I  cannot  undo  it,  I  should  confess  it,  and  resolve 
not  to  do  the  same  thing  again. 


148 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 


,1      I 


LESSON  XXVII. 

MARGARET  AND  HER  CONSCIENCE. 


PART  I. 

A  great  many  years  ago,  the  northern  part  of  New 
York  State  was  one  vast  wilderness.  In  the  midst 
of  this  wilderness,  not  far  from  the  St.  Lawrence 
river,  stood  a  log  house.  In  this  house  lived  the 
little  girl,  who  spent  one  long,  unhappy  day,  be- 
cause she  did  not  obey  her  conscience. 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  149 

You  must  not  think  that,  because  little  Margaret 
lived  in  a  log  house,  her  parents  Avere  very  poor,  or 
that  she  was  a  forlorn,  uncared-for  little  girl.  If 
you  could  have  had  one  long  look  at  the  inside  of  the 
house,  you  would  have  known  better. 

On  one  side  of  the  room  that  was  a  parlor,  dining- 
room  and  kitchen,  all  in  one,  was  a  great  open  fire- 
place, with  its  brass  andirons — for  you  must  know 
that  at  this  time  there  were  very  few  stoves  in  this 
country. 

Near  the  fireplace  was  a  bookcase,  full  of  fine 
books;  and  papers  and  magazines  were  lying  about 
on  tables  and  stands,  as  if  they  were  used  to  being 
read.  Besides  this,  there  was  an  air  of  brightness 
and  comfort  about  everything  mthin  and  without 
the  house. 

One  day,  a  family  that  had  just  come  from  Scot- 
land to  make  a  new  home  for  themselves  in  the 
wilderness,  and  who  had  never  been  in  a  new 
country,  or  seen  a  log  house  before,  exclaimed,  on 
seeing  the  outside  of  this  one,  "  Surely,  beggars  must 
live  in  such  a  place." 

But  when  they  drove  through  the  yard,  to  reach 
their  own  home,  and  saw  through  the  open  door, 
the  pretty  room,  and  the  tea-table,  set  with  its  snow- 
white  linen  and  bright  dishes,  they  changed  their 


150  LESSONS   IN   RIGHT   DOING. 

minds,  and  cried  with  delight,  "We  are  mistaken. 
Surely  princes  must  live  here." 

You  may  be  sure  that  the  children  of  the  house- 
hold loved  their  home  dearly,  loved  the  grand  river 
beside  it,  loved  the  meadows,  and  orchards,  and 
wheat  fields. 

But  better  than  anything  else,  in  or  about  the 
house,  little  Margaret  loved  the  great  old  clock 
that  stood  in  the  living-room.  Often  and  often, 
when  the  other  children  were  playing  in  the  sun- 
shine, she  would  steal  in,  and  stand  before  it,  and 
watch  its  slow-moving  hands,  and  listen  to  its  sol- 
emn ticking. 

Her  father  had  often  told  her  that  if  she  would  lis- 
ten closel}',  she  could  hear  what  the  clock  said  to 
her,  and  that  she  would  be  sure  to  hear  it  say,  "Do 
right,  little  girl;  do  right;  do  right."  It  was 
through  her  love  for  this  old  clock,  with  its  solemn 
voice,  that  the  child  was  tempted  to  the  act  that 
made  her  miserable  for  a  day. 

It  was  in  midsummer.  The  father  and  mother 
were  aw^ay  from  home,  and  the  children  were  left 
to  take  care  of  themselves  and  the  house. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  barn,"  cried  Clarence,  after  they 
had  watched  the  father  and  mother  out  of  sight, 
"and  play  hide-and-seek." 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING.  151' 

"I  think  it  is  nicer  in  the  house,"  said  Margaret. 

"But,"  urged  Clarence,  "the  colt,  and  the  calves, 
and  the  ducks  and  chickens  are  in  the  barn,  and 
it  won't  be  so  lonesome  there." 

"Yes,"  said  the  older  sister,  "but  some  one  might 
come,  Avhile  we  were  there,  and  Ave  wouldn't  know." 

"Some  Indians  might  come,"  said  Clarence,  "so 
perhaps  we  ought  to  stay  here." 

The  children  had  no  fear  of  the  Indians  who  some- 
times came  to  the  house  to  sell  brooms  and  baskets, 
or  to  barter  them  for  a  piece  of  salt  pork  from  the 
pork  barrel;  but  they  felt  that  they  ought  to  be 
present  to  receive  any  one  who  might  chance  tc 
come.  So  they  decided  on  games  that  would  not 
take  them  from  the  front  yard. 

They  grew  tired  of  plajdng,  after  awhile,  and  the 
older  ones  settled  to  theii'  books;  the  two-year-old 
baby  fell  asleep  on  his  blanket  in  the  shade  of  the 
gTeat  maple  tree. 

Then  it  was  that  Margaret,  too  young  to  care  much 
for  books,  too  old  to  take  a  nap  with  the  baby,  took 
her  station  before  the  old  clock,  to  watch  it  and  hear 
it  talk  to  her.  

PART  II. 

This  clock  was  very  different  from  any  that  you 
have  ever  seen,  I  am  sure.    It  had  no  frame  around 


152  LESSONS   IN   EIGHT   DOING. 

it,  no  glass  over  its  face.  It  stood  on  strong  brackets 
that  were  fastened  on  the  wall.  The  weights  were 
large  and  heaiy,  and  when  run  down  hung  nearly 
to  the  floor.  The  wheels  were  all  wooden  wheels, 
and  the  pendulum  hung  within  easy  reach  of  a 
small  child's  hands.  The  face  had  a  second  hand, 
and  a  hand  to  mark  the  days  of  the  month.  In 
large  letters,  on  the  face,  were  the  words,  R.  Whit- 
ing, Winchester,  Conn. — probably  the  name  and 
home  of  the  maker. 

Margaret  soon  grew  tired  of  looking  at  the  clock, 
and  began  to  think  how  much  she  would  like  to 
take  hold  of  the  leaden  cones  fastened  to  the  cords, 
and  draw  them  down  to  see  the  weights  go  up.  She 
wondered  why  pulling  those  small  weights  down, 
drew  the  large  ones  up.  She  thought  she  would 
like  to  touch  the  swinging  pendulum. 

She  took  one  step  nearer  to  the  clock,  and  was 
startled  by  hearing  it  say,  "Do  right,  little  girl;  do 
right;  do  right." 

"Well,  I  haven't  done  anything  naughty,  have  I?" 
exclaimed  the  child,  with  a  start,  as  she  stepped 
back  and  looked  up  at  the  face  of  the  clock. 

Then  she  was  sure  she  heard  the  clock  say  in  a 
softer  voice,  "That's  right,  little  girl;  that's  right; 
that's  right."    If  she  had  only  listened  to  her  con- 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT   DOING.  153 

science,  wliicli  was  speaking  to  lier  tlirongli  the 
voice  of  the  clock,  and  turned  away  from  the  temp- 
tation then,  she  wonkl  have  saved  herself  a  good 
many  hours  of  unhappiness. 

But  she  wanted  very  much  at  least  to  put  her 
hands  upon  the  shining  ball  of  the  pendulum. 

So  she  looked  at  the  face  and  said,  "Pooh!  you're 
a  cross-patch,  and  you  don't  know  anything  aboTit  it, 
an^'VN^ay.  Mother  never  told  me  not  to  touch  you." 
Still  the  clock  kept  saying,  "Do  right;  do  right." 

"I  won't  hurt  you,  the  least  little  bit,"  she  cried. 
"I'll  just  touch  you,  the  softest  little  touch,"  and 
she  went  close  up  to  it,  and  put  her  hand  upon  the 
pendulum.  It  felt  cold  and  smooth.  Tlien  she  w^on- 
dered  if  she  could  make  it  swing  a  little  faster.  So 
she  gave  it  a  push,  and  was  quite  delighted  with 
the  result.  She  pushed  it  again,  a  little  harder 
than  before. 

But  this  time  a  dreadful  thing  happened.  With 
a  sharp,  quick  sound,  that  seemed  to  Margaret  like 
a  cry  of  anger,  the  pendulum  stood  still.  The  silence 
that  followed  was  awful  to  the  child.  The  clock, 
that  she  had  never,  in  her  life,  known  to  do  such  a 
thing,  stopped. 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  murdered  it.  What  could 
she  do!   Neither  father  nor  mother  was  there  to 


154  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING. 

help  her,  and  she  dared  not  tell  her  brothers  or 
sister.  How  could  she  undo  the  thing  that  she  had 
done  ?  Her  conscience  spoke  louder  than  ever,  and 
told  her  that  she  knew  that  she  was  doing  wrong 
all  the  time,  just  as  well  as  if  her  mother  had  told 
her  many  times  not  to  do  what  she  had  done. 

Margaret  could  think  of  but  one  thing  to  do.  She 
went  to  another  part  of  the  room,  and  knelt  down 
and  prayed  to  the  good  Father  in  heaven  to  make 
the  clock  go  again.  Then  she  went  to  see  if  her 
prayer  had  been  answered,  but  it  had  not.  Oh,  how 
she  mshed  she  had  let  it  alone.  She  prayed  again, 
and  again  looked  for  the  answer  to  her  prayer.  And 
so  she  spent  all  the  long  hours  of  the  rest  of  that 
bright  day  in  praying  and  looking  to  see  if  her 
prayer  had  been  answered. 

The  end  of  the  day  brought  the  father  and  mother 
home.  The  older  children  had  learned  that  the  clock 
had  stopped,  though  they  did  not  know  the  cause. 
They  rushed  out  to  tell  what  had  happened. 

"The  clock  stopped!"  exclaimed  the  father,  in 
surprise,  "surely  I  wound  it  last  evening.  I  have 
never  forgotten  it.  Let  me  take  a  look  at  it."  Mar- 
garet was  by  his  side,  watching  his  face  very  closely 
while  he  made  the  examination. 

"Very  strange,"  he  repeated;  then,  as  if  a  thought 


LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING.  155 

had  suddenly  struck  him,  he  said,  "I  fear  some  one 
has  been  meddling." 

Just  then  he  looked  down  into  Margaret's  face, 
and,  guessing  by  the  distress  in  it,  who  the  med- 
dler was,  said  kindly,  "Was  it  you,  Margaret?" 

"Yes,  father,"  she  said,  "I  just  touched  it  a  lit- 
tle bit;  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  it.  Oh,  father,  is  it 
dead?    Won't  it  ever  tick  any  more?" 

Her  father  felt  inclined  to  smile  at  her  thought, 
but  he  saw  how  unhappy  she  was,  and  said  gently, 
"ISTo,  dear,  it  is  not  dead.  You  did  very  wrong,  for 
though  you  did  not  mean  to  hurt  it,  you  did  mean 
to  touch  it;  and  you  knew  you  ought  not  to  do 
that."  Then  he  set  the  clock,  and  started  it,  and  it 
Itegan  ticking  away  as  gravely  as  ever. 

Margaret  seldom  looked  at  the  clock  after  that 
without  thinking  of  the  day  when  she  disobeyed  her 
conscience,  and  was  so  very  miserable.  Many  times 
the  memory  of  that  day  helped  her  to  do  right, 
when  she  was  sorely  tempted. 

SUMMARY, 

Conscience  is  a  voice  within  me,  telling  me  what 
is  right  and  what  is  wrong. 

Before  I  perform  any  action  I  ought  to  listen  to 
my  conscience,  so  as  to  know  whether  what  I  wisli 


156  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT    DOING. 

to  do  is  right  or  WTong,  and  then  I  should  do  what 
A'  says  is  right. 

I  ougfht  to  obey  my  conscience  always,  even  when 
it  tells  me  to  do  something  that  is  very  hard  to  do. 

By  so  doing  I  shall  keep  myself  awake  to  the 
voice  of  conscience,  and  shall  always  hear  it,  clear 
and  strong. 

If  I  form  a  habit  of  listening  to  my  conscience 
and  obeying  it  I  shall  grow  up  to  be  good  and  true. 

If  I  obey  my  conscience  I  shall  be  happy. 

If  I  disobey  it  I  shall  be  unhappy. 

Every  evening  I  should  think  over  what  I  have 
done  during  the  day. 

If  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  have  done  any- 
thing wrong,  I  should  undo  it,  if  I  can.  If  I  can 
not  undo  it  I  should  confess  it  and  resolve  not  to  do 
the  same  thing  again. 

MOTTO : 

Though  the  voice  of  conscience  leadeth— 
Now  through  trial,  now  through  sadness. 

Listen  T\hen  that  soul- voice  pleadeth ; 
It  Avill  lead  through  grief  to  gladness. 


BLACKBOARD    EXERCISES. 


WHAT  IS  CONSCIENCE? 

LISTENING  TO  CONSCIENCE. 

OBEYING   CONSCIENCE. 

KEEPING  AWAIvE  TO  CONSCIENCE. 

HABIT  OF  LISTENING  AND  OBEYING. 

OBEDIENCE  TO  CONSCIENCE  BRINGS  HAPPINESS. 

DISOBEDIENCE  TO  CONSCIENCE  BRINGS  UNHAPPINESS. 

THINKING  OVER  ACTIONS  OF  THE  DAY. 

UNDOING  WRONG. 

CONFESSION. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


DUTIKS    TOWARD    OOD. 


LESSON  xxvin. 

LOVE  AND  GRATITUDK  TOWARD  GOD  AS  CREATOR  AND  FATHER. 

Teacher. — ^At  the  dawning:  of  the  day  Sydney's 
mamma  took  her  way  to  the  garden,  there  to  watch 
the  rising  sun.  The  sky  was  brilliant  with  color. 
The  air  was  soft,  and  cool,  and  sweet  with  the  per- 
fume of  fruits  and  flowers.  The  music  of  birds  and 
insects  was  all  about  her. 

Presently,  Sydney  came  into  the  gai'den.  He 
skipped  gayly  down  the  garden  walk.  He  watched 
the  beautiful  clouds.  He  listened  to  the  songs  of  the 
birds.  He  gathered  fruit  from  the  trees,  and  roses 
from  the  bushes.  He  was  so  filled  with  happiness 
that  he  laughed  gleefully.  He  sat  down  by  his 
mother's  side,  and  began  to  eat  the  fruit  he  had 
gathered. 

Just  then,  Sydney  saw  a  beggar  child  standing 

U9 


160 


LESSONS    IN    TITGHT    DOINft. 


outside  the  garden  gate,  and  looking  into  the  gar- 
den, longingly.    The  happy  boy  inside  the  garden 


LESSONS    IN   KIGHT   DOING.  161 

looked  at  tlie  unhappy  one  ontside,  and  his  heart 
was  filled  with  pity,  his  eyes  with  tears. 

"May  I  give  some  of  my  fruit  to  the  boy?"  he 
asked. 

"I  think  you  may,"  said  his  mamma,  "but,  tell 
me  first,  to  whom  does  the  fruit  belong?" 

"It  is  my  o^Ti,"  said  Sydney.  "Papa  told  me,  last 
evening,  just  how  much  I  might  gather  and  eat,  this 
morning." 

"Then  you  may  give  some  to  the  boy,  if  you  wish," 
said  his  mamma,  "but,  remember,  you  must  do  with- 
out the  part  you  give  away.  You  must  not  gather 
more  to  make  up  for  it.    It  must  be  yoiu'  otvti  gift." 

"Yery  well,"  cried  Sydney,  eagerly,  "I  will  give 
him  half;"  and  he  quickly  divided  his  fruit  into 
two  equal  parts  and  took  one  to  the  ragged  beg- 
gar boy.  In  a  moment  he  was  back,  his  cheeks 
flushed,  his  eyes  flashing. 

"The  selfish  fellow  didn't  once  stop  to  say  'thank 
you,' "  he  cried  angrily;  "he  just  grabbed  the  fruit 
and  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could,  stuffing  it  into  his 
mouth  as  he  ran." 

"Did  you  give  it  to  him  for  the  sake  of  being 
thanked?"  asked  his  mamma. 

"No;  of  course  not,"  said  Sydney,  "I  gave  it  to 
him  because  I  wanted  him  to  have  it;  but  I  think  he 


162  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING. 

might  have  thanked  me  for  it.  He  didn't  even  loo> 
at  me;  he  just  grabbed  the  fruit  and  ran  off." 

"He  certainly  ought  to  have  thanked  you,  Syd- 
ney," said  his  mamma;  "but  are  you  sure  that  you 
never  act  as  the  beggar  boy  did?" 

"I  am  siu'e  of  it,  mamma,"  cried  Sj^dney.  "\\Tliy! 
I  wouldn't  be  so  rude.  Besides  that,  I  love  the  people 
who  do  kind  things  for  me  so  much,  that  I  want 
to  thank  them.  I  thanked  papa  yesterday  when 
he  said  I  might  have  the  fruit.  I  always  thank 
Uncle  George  when  he  gives  me  presents,  and  every- 
one else  who  is  kind  to  me — I  am  sure  I  do." 

"Listen  to  me  for  a  moment,  my  son,"  said  his 
mamma.  "You  were  up  very  early  this  morning 
because  you  were  so  alive  with  glad  health  and 
strength  that  you  could  sleep  no  longer. 

"The  daT\Tiing,  too,  was  beautiful,  and  you  hast- 
ened to  enjoy  it.  You  thought  of  the  fruits  and 
flowers  in  the  garden,  and  you  hastened  to  gather 
them. 

"Who  gave  you  your  health?  Who  gave  you  the 
parents  who  care  for  you?  Who  made  the  flowers, 
and  fields,  and  clouds,  beautiful,  to  give  you  pleas- 
ure? Who  made  the  bii'ds  •v\'ith  sweet  music  in 
their  throats  to  fiU  you  mth  joy?  Can  you  tell  me, 
Sydney?" 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING.  163 

"Yes,  mamma,"  said  the  boj^,  "it  was  God." 

"Have  you  thanked  Him,  my  boy,  for  all  these 
gifts,  and  many  more  that  I  have  Qot  named?" 

"No,  mamma,"  said  Sydney,  in  a  low  voice,  "I 
didn't  think  of  it." 

"So,"  said  his  mamma,  "you  just  'grabbed'  the 
pleasures,  and  did  not  think  to  be  thankful.  Don't 
you  think  that  you  should  love  the  Giver  of  all 
these  gifts  so  much  that  you  would  want  to  thank 
Him?" 

What  do  you  think  was  Sydney's  answer  to  his 
mother's  question? 

Jessie. — I  think  he  said  that  he  ought  to  love  God. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  that  you  ought  all  to  love 
God  and  to  remember  to  be  grateful  to  Him  for  his 
good  gifts  to  you? 

Nellie. — I  think  we  ought. 

Teacher. — You  are  right.  God  made  you  and 
placed  you  in  this  beautiful  world.  He  gave  you 
parents  and  friends  to  care  for  you  while  you  are 
little,  helpless  children.  In  the  prayer  which  you 
repeat  in  the  morning  what  do  you  call  God? 

Harry. — Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven. 

Teacher.— God  is  a  kind  Father  to  you.  No  mat- 
ter how  much  your  father  and  mother  may  love  you, 
they  cannot  love  you  as  God  does.    Surely  you  ought 


164  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

to  love  God  and  be  grateful  to  Him  for  all  his  kind- 
ness to  jou.  You  should  thank  Him  each  day  for 
his  kind  care  over  you. 

SUMMARY. 

God  made  me  and  placed  me  in  this  beautiful 
world.  He  is  my  kind  Father  in  heaven.  He  loves 
me  and  keeps  me  alive,  I  ought  to  love  Him  and 
to  thank  Him  each  day  for  all  his  goodness  to  me. 


LESSON  XXIX. 

GOD'S    HELP. 

Teacher. — If  you  were  to  say  to  yourselves  some 
morning,  "I  vnl\  try  air  day  to-day  to  do  exactly 
right;  I  will  try  not  to  have  one  ^Tong  thought 
nor  do  one  'VNTong  thing;"  do  you  think  wlien  the 
day  passed  and  evening  came  and  you  looked  back 
over  the  day,  that  you  would  find  that  you  had 
kept  your  resolve  and  had  done  exactly  right,  all 
day?    What  do  you  think,  Nellie? 

Nellie. — I  think  we  would. 

John. — I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  we  would  be 
pretty  apt  to  forget,  before  the  day  was  over. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING.  165 

Teacher. — I  fear  that  Nellie  is  wrong,  and  that 
John  is  right.  You  might  succeed  in  being  very 
good,  but  I  fear  you  woidd  fail  of  doing  exactly 
right  even  for  one  day.  Is  it  easy  to  do  right,  Nellie? 

Nellie. — Sometimes  it  is  and  sometimes  it  is  very 
hard. 

Teacher. — Yes,  often  it  is  very  hard.  Even  when 
you  are  trying  your  best  to  do  right  you  will  fail 
again  and  again,  but  you  must  not  be  discouraged, 
you  must  keep  right  on  trying.  You  are  weak  and 
can  not  do  right  in  your  own  strength;  but  there 
is  One  who  will  give  you  strength  if  you  ask  Him. 
Who  is  it? 

Jessie. — It  is  God. 

Teacher. — God  loves  you,  and  because  He  loves 
you  He  wants  you  to  do  right.  We  know  this,  be- 
cause He  has  given  each  of  you  a  conscience  that 
tells  you  what  is  right  and  what  is  wi'ong — that 
makes  you  happy  when  you  do  right  and  unhappy 
Avhen  3^ou  do  ^Tong. 

Sin  is  a  very  terrible  thing.  Your  soul  will  live 
after  yoiu'  body  dies,  and  every  time  you  do  a  wrong 
thing  you  injure  your  soid.  If  ^on  ask  God  to  for- 
give you  for  wrong-doing  and  help  you  to  do  right, 
he  will  do  it. 

Sometimes  you  try  very  hard  to  do  right,  and  no 


166  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT    DOING. 

one  seems  to  notice  it  at  all.  You  feel  discouraged, 
and  think  tliat  it  is  of  no  use  to  try.  Who  looks 
right  down  into  your  heart  and  sees  every  time 
you  try  to  do  right? 

Jennie. — God  does. 

Teacher. — Does  He  see  when  you  do  wrong,  too — 
even  when  no  one  else  knows  anything  about  it? 

Fred. — Yes,  he  sees  everything. 

Teacher. — ^Kemember  that,  when  you  are  tempted 
to  do  wrong,  and  you  will  fear  to  do  it.  Remember 
that  God  loves  you,  and  wants  you  to  do  right,  and 
that  he  knows  every  time  you  do  right  and  every 
time  you  do  wrong.  When  you  have  done  wrong 
ask  God  to  forgive  you  and  to  help  you  not  to  do 
wrong  again. 

SUMMARY. 

God  loves  me,  and  because  He  loves  me  He  wants 
me  to  do  right. 

God  sees  my  heart,  and  knows  when  I  do  right 
and  when  I  do  wrong. 

This  ought  to  make  me  love  to  do  right  and  fear 
to  do  wrong. 

My  soul  will  live  forever,  and  every  time  I  do 
wrong  I  injure  my  soul. 


LESSONS    TN    RIGHT    DOING.  167 

I  can  not  do  right  in  my  own  strength;  but  if  I 
ask  God  to  help  me  He  will  do  it.  When  I  have  done 
wrong  I  ought  to  ask  God  to  forgive  me. 


LESSOK  XXX. 

SHOWING  XiOVE  TO  GOD  BY  BEING  GOOD  AND  DOING  GOOD. 

Teacher. — There  was  once  a  great  man  who  lived 
in  a  beautiful  palace.  He  was  rich  and  powerful. 
He  was  good,  also,  and  loved  to  make  every  one 
happy. 

There  was  a  poor  boy  who  lived  near  the  great 
man's  palace.  The  boy's  parents  died,  and  then  he 
was  not  only  poor — he  was  homeless  and  friendless. 

The  rich  man  learned  about  the  boy  and  pitied 
him.  And  because  he  pitied  him  he  had  him 
clothed  and  fed  and  sent  him  to  school. 

The  boy's  heart  was  filled  Tvith  gratitude,  and 
he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  do  something  for  the 
kind  man  who  had  done  so  much  for  him. 

The  great  man  said  to  him,  "You  can  do  nothing 
for  me.  I  am  rich  and  powerful  and  have  need  of 
nothing;  but  you  can  show  your  gratitude  by  doing 
what  is  best  for  yourself.    Do  right,  study  faith- 


168  LESSONS    IN    RIGHT   DOING. 

fully,  be  kind  to  everyone  you  meet;  make  your- 
self as  good  and  true  and  learned  as  you  can.  I 
will  take  whatever  you  make  of  yourself  as  a  gift 
of  gratitude  to  me." 

When  the  boy  was  grown  to  manhood,  and  no 
longer  needed  school  and  teachers,  he  w^ent  again 
to  his  benefactor  and  said,  "I  have  done  what  I 
could  for  myself,  for  your  sake.  Now  I  am  ready 
to  serve  you  in  any  way  that  I  can.  I  am  grateful; 
I  w^ould  prove  my  gratitude.    What  can  I  do?" 

The  great  man  answered  again,  "I  am  rich  and 
powerful  and  have  need  of  nothing.  You  may  prove 
your  gratitude  by  going  out  into  the  great  world 
and  taking  your  place  in  it;  and  whenever  you  meet 
with  the  poor,  or  the  unhappy,  or  the  wicked,  do 
for  tliem  what  you  would  do  for  me  were  I  in 
their  place." 

W^hen  the  young  man  went  out  into  the  world 
what  do  you  think  he  did? 

John. — I  think  he  did  everything  the  man  asked 
him  to  do. 

Teacher. — Was  it  his  duty  to  do  so? 

Nellie. — Yes,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — Do  you  think  he  wanted  to  do  every- 
thing that  the  man  asked  him  to  do? 

Nellie. — I  think  he  did. 


LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING.  lf>9 

Teacher. — Does  God  need  to  have  you  do  anything 
for  Him? 

Fred. — No,  ma'am. 

Teacher. — What  can  yon  do  for  yourselves  to 
show  God  that  you  h)ve  Him  and  are  gratefnlto  Him? 

Jennie. — We  can  try  to  be  good. 

Fred. — We  can  try  to  do  right  in  everything  all 
the  time. 

Harry. — We  can  speak  the  truth. 

John. — We  can  try  to  grow  up  to  be  good  men  and 
w^omen. 

Teacher. — ^TVTiat  can  you  do  to  others  to  show 
God  that  you  love  Him  and  are  grateful  to  Him? 

Nellie. — We  can  be  kind  to  everyone. 

James. — We  can  be  good  to  poor  people. 

John. — We  can  try  to  get  those  who  are  bad  to  be 
good. 

Teacher .^If  you  do  all  these  things  because  you 
love  God  and  want  to  show  your  love  He  will  ac- 
cept it.  Make  your  own  lives  as  good  and  true  as 
you  can;  do  all  that  you  can  to  make  those  about 
you  good  and  happy,  because  by  so  doing  you  are 
making  the  best  possible  gift  to  God. 

SUMMAKY. 

I  ought  to  show  my  love  and  gratitude  to  God 


170  LESSONS    IN    EIGHT   DOING. 

by  trying  to  do  right  and  by  making  myself  as  good 
and  true  as  I  can. 

I  ought  to  show  it  by  doing  all  I  can  to  make 
every  one  with  whom  I  have  anything  to  do  good 
and  happy.  If  I  do  so,  God  will  accept  what  I  do 
as  a  gift  of  gratitude  to  Him. 

MOTTO. 

When  I'm  working  ;  when  I'm  playing; 
"When  I'm  silent,  nothing  saying  : 
When  I'm  grave  and  when  I'm  gay ; 
When  I  cannot  have  my  way ; 
Happy  I  may  ever  be— 
For  my  Father  cares  for  me. 

God  can  look  into  my  heart. 
Seeing  its  most  secret  part ; 
I  am  weak  to  keep  oiit  wi-ong, 
But  He'll  help  me  to  be  strong; 
Sinful  I  should  never  be— 
For  my  Father  cares  for  me. 


i?\i 


<c 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAClL'Ty 


^TATE  liOF.MA-L  SCHOOL 


